Requiem for Innocence
by Cyn Tolram
Summary: A young child’s life hangs in the balance at the St. Elizabeth Hospital as Ian Nottingham, bodyguard and assassin to eccentric billionaire Kenneth Irons, and NYPD Detectives Sara Pezzini and Danny Woo join forces to find the perpetrator of a heinous cri
1. Innocence Lost

Requiem for Innocence 

**4/26/02**

Rated R: – Not suitable for readers under 18.  Contains scenes of violence and strong sexuality. 

Time Frame: After time is turned back and Parsegian's assassination – Season 2.

Disclaimer:  All rights to Witchblade and its characters belong to Top Cow and TNT.  I am just an admirer of the esoteric yet compelling character of Ian Nottingham as portrayed by Eric Etebari.

Synopsis:  A young child's life hangs in the balance at the St. Elizabeth Hospital as Ian Nottingham, bodyguard and assassin to eccentric billionaire Kenneth Irons, and NYPD Detectives Sara Pezzini and Danny Woo join forces to find the perpetrator of a heinous crime.

Chapter One – Innocence Lost 

The young girl's heart leapt into her throat as she heard the key enter the lock on her front door.  She raced for the closet to hide.  Her mother had asked her to stay overnight with Mrs. Stanley while she took care of some personal business. The precocious eight-year old thought their neighbor smelled like mothballs and had been appalled that her mother had asked her to stay without a good reason.  She escaped after Mrs. Stanley dozed off watching Jeopardy.  It was now after midnight and she herself had fallen asleep waiting for her mother to return.  Now she was afraid her choice had not been a good one.

She peered through the slats in the closet door as a flood of light shown into their dark apartment from the hallway.  Her mother's silhouette blocked her view of the large man that had followed her.  Setting down her purse and coat, her mother had time to light one table lamp before the man grabbed her, pulling her forcibly to him.

"Wait just a minute…Can I get you a drink?"  She asked, hoping to regain her composure and more control of the situation.  The man did not stop kissing her face and neck.  She tried to pull away but he was much too strong.  

Even with the dim lighting, the child could see the fear in her mother's eyes.  The man kept his back to her.  Standing large and as menacing as a monster, he had grown excited by her mother's fear and desperate struggle.

_"Oh Momma…don't let him hurt you, Momma."  The little girl pleaded silently.  Her heart was pounding, too scared to move.  She could not even close her eyes, compelled to watch her mother's fate._

The struggle grew more violent as the young woman tried to beat off her assailant.  She was fighting for her life.  He started to wildly flail at her, throwing her body brutally across the room.  She landed on a glass coffee table that smashed beneath her.  Grabbing a butcher's knife from the kitchen counter, he walked slowly back to where she lay bruised and bleeding on the living room floor, relishing the moment.

_"No Momma…He's coming…He's coming.  Run, Momma…Run!"_

"We have to hide Momma…Come with me in the closet.  We'll be safe here.  Please Momma.  The closet will keep us safe.  It's dark in here.  He won't find us, Momma!"

The small child's breathing had become rapid and shallow.  Her skin was clammy to the touch.  Her pale, blue eyes now stared at the scene before her, bearing witness to the brutal death, as the monster plunged the knife into her mother's heart time and time again.  The sound of the knife tearing into flesh and bone seared into her memory.  The strong metallic smell of her mother's blood would never be forgotten.

_"Momma…the closet…It's dark and safe in here…Momma?  Can you hear me?  Momma…I love you."_

There was no answer.  Time seemed to stop along with her mother's heart.  She did not remember the monster leaving, but the apartment door was opened slightly.  He was gone.  The room was silent again.  The beast had crept away, back to the hole from which he had come.  

The closet was safe for her now.  She would stay in the closet…forever.

*****

The man dressed in black sat alone on the balcony bearing witness to the dawn of a new day.  The sky over Paris displayed a gentle radiance in sharp contrast to his dark and introspective mood.  There was a chill in the air as the rest of the world awakened.  His seclusion was granted by the shroud of darkness, sitting in the shadows only dimly lit from the streets below, he had felt utterly alone there on his balcony, symbolic of the solitary life he had chosen for himself.  

Since he had arrived, his only thoughts had been of her.  

Ian Nottingham had grown accustomed to making NYPD Detective Sara Pezzini a part of his daily routine.  His feelings for Ms. Pezzini had grown more confusing by the day with his mind and his body reacting to her in ways he did not fully understand.  It did not seem to matter whether Sara was near him or not.  He was sensitive to her every thought and emotion.  They were connected in ways beyond his understanding.  He could not tell where she ended and he began.  At times, they were one and the same, as they had been in many lifetimes before.  Dreamlike images of their prior lives together helped answer some of his questions but he was ignorant of the workings between men and women.

Women had not been part of his instruction.  Discipline and his training as a warrior had been his life's focus, yet she so thoroughly distracted him.  His every waking thought was of the beautiful, green-eyed detective whose courage and sense of justice he had grown to admire.  Sleepless nights were a testament to his inability to dispel her from his unconscious thought as well.

His employer, billionaire Kenneth Irons, had commanded Nottingham stalk her every move as the wielder of the Witchblade, an ancient weapon reputed to be worn only by powerful women throughout history.  The Witchblade resembled a striking bejeweled bracelet until its wielder or the weapon itself altered its form into medieval armament replete with sword, granting powers to its bearer.  It had belonged to Irons until the fateful day when the blade had chosen Sara as its next wielder, leaping from the display case at the Midtown Museum during a police altercation and onto the wrist of the perplexed detective.  From that point on, Sara had become the obsession of the ruthless and criminal Kenneth Irons, and by default, his bodyguard and henchman Ian Nottingham.

Head of Vorschlag Industries, Kenneth Irons was obscenely wealthy and eccentric, obsessed with the powers of the Witchblade.  His empire contained everything from media holdings to real estate to biotech development and advanced genetics research.  As unsavory as it appeared, it was rumored Irons made his money the old fashioned way, by illegal arms trade.  He was a collector of people, rare artwork, and ancient weaponry.  

Nottingham's thoughts turned to his benefactor.  He did not have clear memory of when he had come to belong to Irons who had convinced a very young child that his sole purpose in life was to be trained as a warrior in service to him.  Young Nottingham had thought his patron's abusive nature was done out of concern for his safety, to make sure he would survive any hardship and be as tough as he could be.  Only recently had he begun to see the cruelty in his eyes and in his heart, making him doubt the truths of his past and his continuing future with Kenneth Irons.

Underneath the cool and detached exterior, Nottingham had to contend with a daily struggle between the commands of his master and his own sense of good and evil, right and wrong.  Despite a lifetime of Iron's negative influence to the contrary, Nottingham had quietly defied Irons and developed his own integrity and strength of character in a world where such qualities were admonished and beaten out of a lessor person.

Nottingham reflected on the possible reason for his banishment from hearth and home.  Perhaps Irons' sudden order for him to fly to Paris for a series of meetings with the former weapons markets of Parsegian was due in part to Irons' developing concern for Nottingham's independence and his growing closeness to Sara.  Parsegian had been Irons' main competition in illegal arms trading.  His recent assassination was fortuitous and Irons wanted to take advantage of that, or so he claimed.  He demanded Nottingham depart immediately.  

It did not matter that Nottingham had been the sniper and Irons had ordered the hit on Parsegian.  It was just good business.  

Nottingham was flown on the Vorschlag jet the day before yesterday.  His internal clock had not yet adjusted to European time.  As the sun peeked its way over the horizon on a world far from his own, he decided to take a quick shower before getting some breakfast and departing for the last of his meetings.  Nottingham had changed the time of this last meeting so he could leave earlier than expected.  He would soon be flying home.

The Hotel Jardins du Trocadero was a 4-star hotel Irons always booked for him.  Irons insisted Nottingham use the deluxe accommodations, even if they far exceeded his own taste.  The hotel was located in the heart of Paris, overlooking the Trocadero and bordering the Champs-Elysees.  The hotel room was large and ostentatious and overlooked the Rue Benjamin Franklin with a panoramic view of the Eiffel Tower and the Seine River.  He had used the hotel on other occasions and preferred its familiarity and the discreet nature of its employees.  

The room was decorated in dark blue and white coloring, a little more floral than he preferred.  The French love their floral prints and ornate decors.  The bath was similarly fashioned but had an American style shower which he preferred.  As he soaked under the hot shower, he closed his eyes.  He could not get Sara out of his mind as the near scalding water streamed down his neck and back, along every sinew and curve of his body.  His shoulder length dark hair lay drenched against his bare skin, straightening the waves normally present.  The strongly scented French soaps reminded him of a perfume she had worn once.  As he lathered his skin, the soft feel of the creamy soap made him think of how her skin must feel to the touch.  

Keeping his eyes closed, his thoughts strayed to the curve of her hips and the tender flesh of her breasts.  At first, these images tortured him for he had never before had such thoughts of the wielder.  Yet, gazing upon Sara in the throes of passion brought joy to his heart.  It felt right, connecting to something primal within him.  

Hesitantly, he began to touch himself as he imagined moving in rhythm with Sara.  How could anything about Sara be wrong?  Feeling her warm skin next to his, he could picture making love to her by candlelight in her loft.  The sweat glistening on her skin capturing light and reflecting like diamonds.  He was not about to stop even though his heart was racing and his breathing had become shallow.  His face and chest were growing warm with his excitement.  Faster…there was more urgency in his movements.  His heightened senses aroused him beyond all reason as he imagined Sara bracing against him in response to his deepening thrusts.

Just a few short hours away, Sara had been having trouble sleeping.  She and her partner Danny had been working a very tough couple of cases that had kept her mind active most of the night.  She tossed in bed, kicking the sheets off her legs, pulling at her nightshirt.  She had not seen Nottingham in days.  This bothered her for she had grown accustomed to her shadow.  His presence seemed reassuring as she struggled with learning the powers of the Witchblade.  With him around, she somehow knew she was not alone.  

Her thoughts turned to him.  

Taking a deep breath, her mind drifted to his captivating brown eyes the color of her favorite coffee framed by lush, dark lashes.  Carnal thoughts of him drifted through her mind.  She grew warm in her arousal.  As subtly as if the thought had been her own, her mind suddenly filled with images of Nottingham's body lathered in soap as hot water streams down his flesh.  As quickly as it had flashed into her mind, the image dissolved away.  The Witchblade on her wrist grew a fiery red with dazzling color, projecting the hues on the ceiling and walls of her loft.  The gauntlet sharpened the images that had initiated in Sara's mind, but did it now make her a voyeur into Nottingham's innermost thoughts and sexual desires?  The reflections appeared and dissolved at will.  Was the blade faltering somehow?  Perhaps Ian was hesitant?  Yes, she could now sense his reluctance.  There was an innocent quality to his exploration, yet he was slowly gaining his confidence.  She willed the gauntlet to strengthen the connection.

In doing so, images and her sensory perceptions intensified.  She no longer wore her nightshirt, but instead lay naked against him.  Soon, she could feel the weight of his body on hers.  She knew the smell of his skin, could hear his groans of pleasure as he thrust deeply into her.  His lips covered her own as their tongues joined.  The warmth of his hands could be felt along her neck and on her breasts.  Plunging deeply into her, he cupped his hands under her hips to heighten her pleasure.

Oh yes, she could feel him so deep inside her.

Wrapping her legs around him, they moved in unison.  Her hands clutched his back as she tilted her hips, trying to intensify the feel of him swelling inside her.  Her orgasm rippled through her in powerful waves.  Crying out her joy, she imagined Nottingham could feel her pleasure for he could not restrain himself any longer.  He screamed his release as he arched his back and shuddered in his exhaustion.  They climaxed together in matched urgency, satiated by sheer will and their heightened connection to one another.

Sara sat bolt upright in bed, her nightshirt wet with her own sweat.  She gasped for air, her breathing ragged.  It was the only sound in the room.  What the hell just happened?  It had been so real.  She looked around her loft apartment in hopes of finding Ian lurking in the shadows.  No such luck.  The images were so intensely vivid.  The flashes of Nottingham in a shower, then in bed with her, left her confused.  Had it been her dream or his?  

As she reasoned this out, she could easily picture the dream being hers.  Yet, there was a voyeuristic quality to it, as if the blade had allowed her a look into an intimate moment of Nottingham's.  Wearing the blade sure had its bright spots and this was one of them.  No batteries required.  She came to the conclusion that it had been a dream accentuated by Ian's obvious telepathic abilities.  Why should she doubt his telepathy when she had accepted herself as the wielder of the gauntlet for crying out loud?  Why not telepathy, too?  

Nottingham had chosen her for his fantasy.  Should she be outraged at this?  Maybe she would be if she had not initiated such thoughts herself.  He had just expressed himself with more…creativity.  No, she was flattered and could not keep the smirk off her face.  She shook her head and smiled wickedly.

"Thanks for bending my spoon, Nottingham…where ever you are."  She knew she could now fall asleep.

Across the world, Nottingham leaned against the cool tile walls of the shower in exhaustion.  His legs were no longer willing to support him; he sank slowly to the floor.  The experience had left him breathless and weakened.  It had not been just the physical aspects of the episode.  The intense connection to images of Sara had been so undeniable, so draining.  He did not understand what had just happened.  It had felt so real…so good.  He had never felt anything like this before.

Worn by the vivid encounter, he could not rise from the floor of the shower.  He simply reached up to turn off the hot water, finishing his shower with a cold blast.  He gasped as the icy cold water braced his skin.  These feelings for Sara were mounting day by day.  They were getting harder to control.  He could not continue in conflict like this.  Out of respect for the wielder, he must regain his discipline to serve her.  He would not selfishly indulge in his own fantasies again.

Easier said than done.  His desire for her was a living, breathing thing.  It was as palpable as the softness of her hair or the intense green of her eyes.  He could not help himself.  He secretly desired her above all else.

Sara slept soundly for another few hours when the phone rudely awakened her.

"This better be good."  She demanded groggily.

"Sara?  It's me.  We got another one."  

Her partner, Danny Woo could not hide the disgust and disappointment in his voice.  This was the third brutal murder in the past month, similar in MO.  They were both afraid to admit this may be the work of a serial killer.  The question would be hard to avoid with this third case.  Danny gave her the address of the murder scene where they were to meet in a half-hour.

"Tell me anything good, partner?" She pleaded.

"This time, we have a witness."


	2. Connections

**Chapter Two - Connections**

Sara arrived at the crime scene a half-hour later.  She had seen many neighborhoods like this one, narrow streets, filled with older model cars, people living their lives in silent hopelessness.  The brick apartment buildings that lined the streets were run down.  They were not bad enough to be condemned, which would have been an act of mercy perhaps.  Graffiti marked the walls in a futile effort to say 'I Exist', giving voice to the quiet desperation within.

A young police officer standing guard at the top of the front stoop stood in Sara's way as she tried to enter the building.  She flashed her credentials as he directed her up one flight of stairs to her left.  Reaching the upper landing of the stairway, she overheard an older woman's eyewitness account of her babysitting a child.  Sara immediately took pity on the woman who was now rambling.  She was visibly shaken.  

Sara knew what lay beyond the door ahead.  The yellow crime scene tape was not necessary for her to determine the location of the murder.  She could smell death as she had many times before.  Her partner Danny had arrived just ten minutes before she had, dressed in faded, blue jeans and a black, long-sleeved, v-necked sweater.  His shoulder-length, straight black hair cast an almost blue black sheen in contrast to the color of his sweater.  He had a slight slant to his intelligent, dark brown eyes, attributable to his half-Asian heritage.  He nodded to Sara as she drew closer.

"Talk to me, Danny."

"Knifed to death…like the other two.  The vic is Sandra Kensington.  She was twenty-nine years old.  Seems she may have brought someone home…like the others."  Danny's expression could not hide his growing abhorrence for this indiscriminate killer.  Being a parent himself, he found it hard to keep the judgment from his voice.  Why had she brought this man to her home, to the home she had made for herself and her child?

Sara nodded to the medical examiner across the room as he closely continued his scrutiny of the corpse.  "Can place the time of death sometime between midnight and two in the morning.  I'll know more after the autopsy."  He offered.

Squatting down closer to the body, Sara felt like an interloper into this woman's final minutes.  The horrified expression on her face was frozen in time, immortalized as evidence by the camera that flashed overhead.  Sara was very familiar with the metallic smell of drying blood and other bodily fluids that now invaded her senses.  In a lifetime, she could not forget it.  

From the blood splatter, it was clear Sandra had lost her battle for life in this very spot.  The frenzied actions of the killer were reflected in the pattern of blood sprayed onto the nearby walls and even the ceiling.  She bled out in no time with one or two major arteries being severed.  The pool of blood on the floor was testament to that.  It must have been a brutal attack.  The murder weapon was still protruding from her chest.  From a minor amount of blood evidence near the front door, Sara deduced the struggle was initiated there.  A man strong enough to do so must have thrown Sandra's body across the room.  She had landed atop a cheap glass coffee table that lay shattered beneath her.  The room had been sparsely furnished to start, looking as if the young woman had selectively acquired her possessions from Good Will and local dumpsters.  She had tried to make due with what life had handed her, until now.

"Mrs. Margaret Stanley, her neighbor, had thought someone down the hall had their TV up too loud.  She went back to sleep.  No one else in this building has come forward with any information.  We have a bloody footprint that indicates a big guy.  There's also an irregularity on the heel of his left shoe…a cut or gouge near the outer edge. "  Danny continued.

Through the flurry of activity across the room, Sara could see a very small child sitting on a worn green sofa.  Her long brown hair was mussed.  Her pale, blue eyes stared vacantly into space, not seeing the apartment full of people.  Danny followed as Sara walked slowly toward the child.

"Is this our witness?"  She asked quietly.

"Annie Kensington.  She's eight years old.  Mrs. Stanley was supposed to be babysitting but fell asleep.  Annie must have left the neighbor's and gone back home.  Mrs. Stanley went looking for her around one thirty this morning.   She called 9-1-1 after she saw what had happened.  The killer must have left the apartment door open."  

The look of compassion on Danny's face for the little girl warmed Sara's heart, reaffirming the love she felt for her longtime partner.  As a young father, Sara could only imagine what this must be like for Danny to witness a child going through this kind of torture. 

"The officers first on the scene found Annie still hiding in the closet…in the dark.  She must have seen the whole thing through the slats in the door.  She has not moved or said anything since we got here.  Poor kid."  

Danny sat next to Annie, brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes.  His own daughter was nearly Annie's age.  The thought of her witnessing her own mother's death, robbing her of her childhood forever, brought a lump to his throat and rage to his heart.  The solitary tear that now streaked his face did not escape Sara's scrutiny.  Danny looked up in time for Sara to return his gaze with a sympathetic smile.  Most men would have been embarrassed by this display of emotion, but most men weren't as strong as Danny Woo.

Sara now turned her attention to the small figure slumped on the old sofa.

"Annie?  Can you hear me, honey?"

There was no response.  What else could Sara say?  She couldn't promise her safety.  This was not a safe world for Annie anymore.  Her mother was never going to be all right.  She could offer no solace.  Nothing would comfort this child.  What Sara could do for Annie was check her vitals.  She noticed Annie's skin was cold and moist to the touch.  Her pupils were dilated, eyes glazed over.  Her pulse was barely discernible.

"She's in shock, Danny.  We need to get her to a hospital."

"St. Elizabeth's is the closest.  I'll drive."  

Danny grabbed a comforter from a linen closet, gently wrapping the pale, thin child.  Sara could hear her partner whispering quietly to the little girl, words only shared between them.  He cradled her in his arms; his warm cheek snuggled next to the young girl's, as if Annie were his.  They rushed from the crime scene with their precious cargo; Sara opening the rear car door as Danny carefully placed the girl in a prone position using Sara's lap to elevate her feet.

They checked Annie into a private room of the children's ward at the hospital.  Danny made a quick call to Social Services to make a report and be assigned a caseworker.  With Annie being a material witness to a crime, special handling would be required.  Sara offered to stay with the child knowing her partner well.  He had been feeling the need to do something for Annie.  Sara suggested he make the arrangements for round the clock police protection through the 11th Precinct to start the next day.  

He was a man with a mission.

*****

The Vorschlag jet touched down in New York by late afternoon.  Nottingham's meetings in Paris had gone better than expected.  Irons would be pleased with the results, if pleased was a word to be used in connection with Kenneth Irons.  He would not be expected until tomorrow.  He chose to rent a locker to stow his luggage for now.  Nottingham knew it was a risk to try and deceive Irons but seeing her was worth the risk.  He supposed he should be more concerned with the change in his behavior and in his judgement, but he quickly dismissed the thought.  Only one thing was on his mind right now.

He must find Sara.

This time of day, his first instinct was to try the 11th Precinct.  As he had arrived by cab, he found her partner, Danny Woo, leaving the parking lot in a rush.  He had the cab driver follow hoping he would lead him to Sara.  He was not disappointed.  Much to his concern, Danny had led him to the St. Elizabeth Hospital.  Had Sara been injured while he was away?  With Sara's partner so preoccupied, he had not noticed Nottingham as he kept Danny in sight.  He entered a hospital room on the third floor.  Sara was sitting near the bedside of a small young girl.  

Once he laid eyes on the small child hooked to an IV, Nottingham was drawn to her.  He was no longer concerned that Sara or her partner may spot him.  Something deep within him wanted to reach out to this forsaken young girl.  No life was present in eyes that should have been carefree.  He recognized the look of something stolen or broken in her eyes.  It reminded him of his own childhood, taken from him so indiscriminately by Irons.  He could not change his past, but he might be able to change her future.  He must know more.  Still, he kept his distance, waiting for the right moment to approach.

Danny handed his partner a cup of java and a blueberry scone he had bought along the way to the hospital.  He knew she would be hungry and caffeine deprived.

"You, I love…" She thanked him as he handed over her much needed fix.  Ian quietly watched this exchange between Sara and Danny, envying her partner of his relationship with her.

"Don't let my wife hear you say that."  He teased.  "Any change?" His mood quickly darkened as he was reminded of Annie's frail condition.

"No.  They had a psychiatric consult here a few minutes ago…nothing much to offer.  It's gonna take a lot of therapy, my friend." Sara responded.

"Any reaction from Annie to the therapist?"  Danny hoped.

"None.  Let's step out of the room for a minute."  Sara and Danny walked down the hall to a small waiting area to talk in private.

"I don't know how much she hears."  She shook her head, redoing the barrette in her long brown hair.

"Danny, we have not released to the press that there was a witness.  We could use that to nail this guy.  We could make sure Annie is safe, then set him up when he comes for our witness."

"That's a good idea, Pez.  Where are we going to do this?  It's too dangerous here at the hospital."  Danny asked.

"Maybe not.  There's an older wing that is not used except in cases of emergency.  We can make it look like the rest of the hospital, except we'll fill it with our guys in blue posing as patients and medical staff.  Maybe we release to the press that our witness suffered a mild coronary and is undergoing treatment in this new wing.  What do you think?"

"Not bad.  It could work."  He nodded.  "We have to do something to stop this bastard."

As they wandered back to Annie's room, they were surprised to see Nottingham holding Annie's hand.  Like a parent defending a child, Danny instinctively rushed past Sara to protect Annie, but Sara reached out to stop him with her left arm.  

"Wait, Danny."  Danny flashed his partner a perturbed look, wanting an explanation.

The blade had flashed images of Nottingham trying to help Annie as he fought his way to her in the dark chasm of her troubled mind.  Danny had reacted instinctively as any father would do.  Sara herself had only recently started to change her perceptions of Irons' henchman.  Trusting Nottingham with Annie was a stretch even for her.  She could not blame Danny for his strong reaction.  

"Just trust me, partner.  Give him a minute."  Sara pleaded with Danny.

Nottingham and Annie were breathing ragged, shallow breaths in unison.  They were both shaking visibly, staring into each other's glazed eyes.  It was the strongest reaction she had seen from the child since the murder.  Sara knew she should grab a nurse and ask for the psychiatric consult again, but she could not leave the room.  Something was happening.  Maybe Nottingham could reach down into this child and touch her.  Sara was spellbound as she witnessed their obvious connection.

"Safe here in the dark…Monsters can't come in here."

_"I can keep you safe.  The monsters will not hurt you.  I will protect you."_

_"Who are you?"_

_"My name is Ian.  I am a knight.  I protect people."_

_"Why couldn't you save my Momma?"_

_"I am sorry about your mother.  I was…in a foreign land on a quest.  What is your name, little one?"_

_"My name is Annie.  I tried to help my Momma, but she couldn't hear me.  I told her the closet was safe."_

_"If you help me, Annie…I can punish the monster that hurt your Momma.  Can you help me?"_

_"I'm scared, Ian."_

_"You must be brave, Annie…Help me find who hurt your mother.  Who did it, Annie?"_

_After a long pause, "A big man.  I never saw him before."_

_"What was he wearing?   Did you notice anything different about him?"_

"It was dark…could not see a lot.  He had dark pants…brown jacket.  Big…really big."

_"Anything else, Annie?  His hair…what did his hair look like?"_

_"Short…brown, I think."_

_"Any tattoos or scars?"_

"Yes…He had a scar near his left ear…went across his cheek.  I think it was a scar.  It was dark."

_"Annie?  Do you want to come with me?  I can protect you.  No monsters will come."_

_"NOOOOO!  Not ready.  Monsters are big."_

_"Fair Lady Sara is just outside the closet.  She has great powers.  She will help me protect you, Annie.  No more monsters.  No more."_

Nottingham held the child close as he began to pull away from her subconscious.  He gasped with the effort he had to exert.  Her will to cleave to him was strong.  He shook uncontrollably as his vision adjusted for the light and sounds of the hospital.  Nottingham found himself reaching across the hospital bed; the small child pulled closely to his chest.  He had tried to absorb her palpable fear, drawing it into himself to destroy, but the intimate contact with another human being had taken him by surprise.  Turning suddenly, he had been unaware Sara and Danny had witnessed his connection to Annie.   He held onto the little girl as she slowly released him from her grip, slipping back into her catatonic state.

"What just happened here?"  Sara was the first to open her mouth.

"I had to talk to Annie."  Visibly weakened by his connection to Annie, it took Nottingham a while to answer.  He could no more explain this than Sara.

"How do you know her name?  And what do you mean you had to talk to her?  She hasn't said a word." Sara questioned.

"He could have gotten her name off her chart, Sara." Danny stepped in, still a little uneasy with Nottingham's interference.

Nottingham was reluctant to leave Annie's side but did not want to continue this conversation with Danny present.  It would be hard enough to explain to Sara.  He looked into her eyes without response.  Whether by cop's instincts or a growing connection to Nottingham through the Witchblade, Sara knew what he was thinking as if the thought were hers.  Not taking her eyes from him, Sara directed her next comment to her partner.  

"Danny, could you find a psychiatric consult for Annie?  Maybe we could get her checked out again.  Tell them what happened."

"I'm not sure I can explain what happened but I'll give it a shot."  Danny protectively looked toward Sara, not wanting to leave her alone with Irons' assassin.  He gave her that non-verbal look that partners develop over the years, the look that spoke volumes.  Trusting Sara's judgment, he reluctantly left the room when his partner gave no indication of changing her mind.

"Talk to me."  There was no pleading in Sara's voice.  She demanded to know what just happened.

"It was difficult, but we connected.  She told me some things about that night."  Nottingham continued to hold Annie's hand.

"What things?"

"Big man.  He wore dark pants, brown jacket.  Had short brown hair.  She thinks he had a scar near his left ear, across his cheek."

Sara stared at Nottingham in disbelief.  How was this going to look on her report?  Would she issue an APB based on an eyewitness account obtained telepathically?  She could hear Dante now.  Though, after the experience she had shared with him last night, she had no doubt he had connected to the withdrawn little girl.  Danny had brought a woman doctor to examine the child.  While this was being accomplished, Nottingham slipped away into the hospital corridor with Sara soon following.  Danny remained with Annie.  Staring after Sara as she pursued Nottingham down the hall, he reminded himself how much he trusted his long time partner.  This connection to Irons' lethal weapon confused and troubled him.  He made himself a promise to talk to her later.

"Not so fast, Nottingham."

She caught up with him just after he had entered a small chapel down the hall.  Votive candles burned near the simple, unadorned altar.  Something smelling of incense was in the air.  He had slid into a pew to the rear of the tiny room, sat with his head bowed as if in prayer.

"I would not have thought you the religious type."  That got his attention as she sat one row behind him to his right.

"I have long since given up hope of anyone listening to my prayers, Sara.  I just thought I could speak up for Annie since she is unable to do so on her own."

The image of this assassin praying for little Annie tugged at her heart.  Sara did not want to get emotional here.  She had to understand what had happened by asking the question for which she already knew the answer.  She had to hear his response.

"Did you really connect with her?  How?"  It took him a while to answer, as if he were trying to understand it himself.

"It was difficult at first.  She stayed hidden from me.  She eventually began to talk to me."  It was a simple answer, yet so complicated.

She understood.  Of all people, she would understand.

"You have an interesting way of reaching out and touching someone, Nottingham…Last night was a real Hallmark moment."  

He turned to her with a questioning look.  She returned a wicked grin.  He did not know what she was talking about at first.  Tilting his head to one side, he continued to question her with his large, dark eyes.  Finally, the light bulb shed some light on the subject.  Leaning his head back, he closed his eyes and let out an exasperated gasp of embarrassment.  

Looking as if he were about to speak, he turned to her but found he could not look her in the eye.  The hurt look on his face made her regret she had been so flippant.  Not knowing how to respond, he quickly departed without another word, leaving her sitting alone in the chapel in total confusion.

"Well, I'll be damned."  Suddenly remembering where she was, she knew it was too late to retract her last statement.  

Thinking back, it all now made sense.  She had sensed his hesitancy and his innocent exploration.  He had not intended to share his fantasies with her.  It should have been a private moment for him alone.  Putting herself in his place, she knew her response must have appeared mocking and cruel.  She knew she owed him a major apology.  

That would have to come later.  

Right now, her concern was for Annie.  Although Sara did not know how Nottingham would respond, she now had her answer.  Ian had a gift.  A gift that could help Annie make her way back...but back to what, she wondered.


	3. Revelations

**Chapter Three - Revelations**

Danny stayed with Sara and Annie as late as he could.  He left the hospital near the dinner hour to see his own children before they were off to bed.  While Danny only had thoughts of extra hugs and kisses from his children and his wife tonight, Sara had no one waiting for her.  Yet, a smile crossed her face when she was reminded Nottingham was lurking somewhere nearby.  She used the term 'lurking' with affection these days.  With the aid of the blade, she could feel him if he was close at hand.  Was this a benefit or a curse?  She could not answer.  They had not spoken since their conversation in the chapel.  She was anxious to apologize to him.  Visiting hours had been over an hour ago.  The nurses were kind enough to set up a cot for Sara to sleep.

"Visiting hours are over, sir.  You have to leave."  Sara heard a nurse reprimanding someone.  She looked out the door without showing surprise to see Nottingham taking the older nurse's abuse, head bowed with respect.  He held a paper bag that she assumed contained sustenance.  Even after the abuse she had heaped on him generously, he still thought of her needs.

"If that's food, he can stay."  Sara stated assertively.

"It is, Sara."  He replied simply.

It did not go unnoticed that Nottingham could not look Sara in the eye after their encounter in the chapel.  He should not be the one in shame, she thought.  She admired his protectiveness for Annie that more than outweighed his personal embarrassment with her.

"We won't be able to get an extra cot in the room."  The nurse replied.

"We will not be needing one."  Nottingham offered rather quickly.

"Oh…" The older woman winked in Sara's direction and abruptly walked away before a smiling Sara or a stunned Ian could reply.

"I…I did not mean it that…I guess I better keep my mouth shut.  Here."  Blushing in embarrassment, Nottingham presented her with a gourmet sandwich selection from her favorite deli.  She had long since given up being concerned how he knew her favorite everything.

"Have you eaten?"  She asked.

"Not hungry.  How is she doing?"  He walked past her.  It was obvious Annie's well being was on his mind.

"No change.  She seems a little more restless somehow.  Not sure how I know that, but it just feels like it."

Nottingham pulled up a chair to Annie's bedside and gently stoked the little girl's tiny fingers.  He had taken off his gloves.  Sara had not seen him without them off.  This was yet another amazing first.  With his left hand, he tenderly stroked her hair and forehead.  It was as if no one else were in the room.

Sara watched the strange transformation taking place in front of her eyes.  Nottingham had slowed down his breathing, focusing on Annie's face to keep him centered.  A slow shudder started at his very core.  His breathing was becoming shallow and erratic. He was connecting to Annie.

_"I am here, Annie…No more monsters.  I will protect you."_

_In the darkness of the closet, he could not find her at first.  He started to panic.  Where was she?  Had she gone further into the murkiness?_

_"I know…" The little, frail voice came from somewhere in the void.  He felt relief to hear her.  She was still with him.  Perhaps he was the only one keeping her there._

_"I know what it is like to want to hide away.  The world and grown ups can be scary.  Sometimes it is scary to be alone…but Annie…you are not alone.  Lady Sara and I want to protect you."_

_"I'm scared, Ian.  Momma is…gone.  I am alone."  He had followed her voice and was near her now._

_"We are with you, Annie.  I am your knight to command.  Lady Sara and I are with you.   No more monsters, Annie.  No more.  Do you trust me?"_

_The little girl hesitated for a brief instance.  "Yes, I do trust you.  I can feel Lady Sara also.  Is she beautiful, Sir Ian?"_

_"Most beautiful, my lady.  You should come out of the closet to see for yourself.  Will you tell me when you are ready to come with me, Annie?"_

_"Yes…just not now, Sir Ian.  Not now."  _

_He kneeled by Annie in the dark, knowing she could feel him near her.  He wanted to hold her, but she resisted, still keeping her distance.  He had a feeling she could feel him holding her catatonic body close to his just outside the closet.  It would have to do for now._

Sara was growing concerned.  Nottingham had been under a long time.  He had connected to Annie.  This she knew.  Nottingham and Annie were no longer with her in the room.  They were together somewhere else.  Annie's body began to pull back and release from Ian.  His breathing was very erratic.  His eyes were glazed over.  Beads of sweat slowly trickled down his temples.  Was he coming back?  Could he come back?  Jerking his head, he gasped as he released Annie's limp body, shaking uncontrollably.  He laid his head down on the bed, closing his eyes for a moment, reaching out to the little girl.  Annie had grown calmer.  Sara thought she could sleep now…at least for a while.  Standing by Ian's side, she wanted to comfort him with a touch but was a bit apprehensive about initiating such intimacy.  A relationship with Nottingham would be complicated at best.  She was unsure she was ready for the intensity of it.

Sara had eaten her sandwich as she had watched Ian and Annie connect.  She pondered how her opinion of Nottingham had changed greatly since their first meeting.  At first, she had thought him to be more like his obsessed employer and master Kenneth Irons, but he was actually a sharp contrast to him.  She could see that now.  Irons would not have even given a second thought to helping Annie yet Nottingham would not leave her side.  Ian has stood ready to help without Sara even asking.  

Nottingham's genuine innocence was elusive but ever present to some degree.  With Sara, he seemed almost shy and unsure of himself when they were alone.  Irons' enslaved lethal weapon was a real enigma.  His mind more akin to that of an innocent child encased in the body of a full-grown man.  He could kill without remorse as commanded by his master yet she had no doubts he would give his life for Annie.  The Witchblade has brought many new people into her life, some good and many not so good.  Until now, she thought she had Nottingham pegged in the middle, straddling the fence of good and evil.  She may have been wrong. 

Nottingham had begun his return to the living.  He raised his head sluggishly, pulling back from Annie as she slept.  Sara waited for the fog to clear from his eyes, fidgeting as she sat on the edge of the cot.

"I'm sorry if I was a little insensitive…in the chapel."  Sara began her apology, hoping to quickly mend the bad stretch of fence between them.

Shifting nervously in his chair, he could not look her in the eyes.  No response. 

"It's just that I usually resort to humor…sometimes not at the best, most appropriate times.  Sorry."  She continued.

"I did not know…I did not want you to know…" He slowly began.  He struggled to look her in the eyes but failed at almost every attempt.

"You see…I knew you did not know what was going on."  She smiled, trying to make him feel comfortable again.  Another awkward moment passed between them.

"Sara…This is all so embarrassing.  I am so sorry."

"Don't apologize to me, Nottingham.  I should be the one apologizing to you." She meant every word.  She contemplated her next remark.  It was not like her to hold back so she plunged forward.

"Besides, I liked it."  She offered a little timidly.  She laid everything out for him as honestly as she knew how.  He had bared himself to her by accident.  She just returned the favor on purpose.

"You what?"  The look of innocent surprise on his face was beautiful, she thought.  Her response scared the hell out of him.  What did all this mean?

"We just may have to try that again…at least on the same continent…preferably in the same room."  She grinned.

He stared at her in disbelief, making eye contact briefly.  Did she just say what he thought she said?  His eyes softened as he tried to suppress a smile.

"There…You thought that was funny, didn't you?  Admit it, Nottingham?"  She pointed a finger at him, her face luminous with a bright smile.  He finally broke down, joining her in a good chuckle, careful not to wake Annie.  After a moment, however, he became more somber.  He had fought many opponents as a warrior but nothing was more difficult than the struggle he faced finding his next words.  He would have preferred taking a bullet to the stomach than to volunteer the information he felt compelled to share with her right now.

"Sara…My life has been devoted to my training as a warrior.  I have been preparing for the coming of the next wielder…you.  I have trained to serve you, Sara."  She let him find the words.  It was obvious he was struggling.

"Women…they were never part of my…instruction."  

Ian knew that he was different from most men in this regard.  He had been considered a freak by others his whole life for many reasons.  His lack of experience with women was just one more way he felt he had earned the name.  A part of him wanted to be cavalier about his disclosure, but he knew this could never be.  It pained him to give Sara another reason to keep him at a distance for he so desperately wanted her to accept him as a man.

Sara watched as he agonized over the proper phrasing.  Apparently, bullets whizzing by his head would have been easier for him to confront than giving voice to his next thought. Not being a patient woman by nature, it troubled her to witness his effort.  She raised herself slowly from the cot, trying to close the gap between them in more ways than one.  What was he trying to tell her?

"What happened the other night…I have never…It had never happened before…nor can it ever happen again…not if I am to serve you, Sara." Ian was struggling with this admission, his voice quivering with shame.  He could not look her in the eye.

Suddenly, it clicked.  She had sensed his hesitancy the other night, compliments of the Witchblade.  Now, she knew why.  Nottingham was a virgin?  Not only had he been unaware of his telepathic images reaching Sara, but this also may have been his first attempt fantasizing about a woman.  She could not comprehend this.  Sara reached across the hospital bed, grasping his bare hand.  She wanted to save him the embarrassment of having to admit he had never been with a woman.  This was just another bit of cruelty imposed by Irons to keep his minion focused on his training and devoid of emotion.  The show of intimacy from Sara startled him.  He flinched, not being used to the touch of another human being.  Nottingham seemed afraid to give voice to this flaw for fear Sara might think him even stranger.  Instead, her heart and soul wanted to reach out to him.

"There are many ways to serve me…maybe we can define them ourselves…just you and I.  What do you say?"  Her smile warmed his heart as she squeezed his hand again.  

"Apology accepted?"  She asked.  

He slowly nodded his head, his mocha brown eyes telling her all she needed to know.  No real need for telepathy when you have eyes like his, she thought.

They settled in for a long evening with Annie.  The minutes and hours seemed interminable.  The sounds of the hospital and the routines of the day were drawing to a close.  Not being a particularly patient woman, Sara paced the halls to relieve the boredom while Nottingham withdrew into himself.  He was content to be alone in his own thoughts.  Admittedly, he required little sleep so Sara gave the first watch to Nottingham as she stretched out on the cot.  After several hours, he began to doze, laying his head near Annie's shoulder.  Just as he had drifted off to sleep, both he and Sara were abruptly awakened by a bone-chilling scream.

Annie was reliving the night of her mother's brutal death.  She shrieked in terror, desperately and vainly trying to help her doomed mother.  Thrashing wildly, she flailed her thin arms at the one raised bed rail to her left and the nightstand to her right, ripping the IV from her arm.  With white knuckles, she desperately clutched the thin hospital blanket to her chest.  Her tiny face was so pale.  In her feverish state, her screams were pitiable and gut wrenching to hear.  The gauntlet flashed rapid images of Annie's precarious condition, suspended in the pitch-black abyss of her withdrawn mind.  Sara had leaped to Nottingham's side.  

"You have to stop her from slipping, Ian.  She may never come out of this if you don't."  She pleaded as nursing staff rushed to the room.

Nottingham struggled with his connection to the frightened child.  He kept missing her.  _Slow down, he thought.  __She needs you.  Slow down, he repeated to himself.  Despite the chaos in the room, he had to focus.  Focus on Annie.  _

Sara marveled at his discipline, his ability to block out the noise and his trepidation for Annie.  His breathing had become deep and regular.  She knew he could not see anyone in the room.  The connection had begun.  He started to shudder, his breaths changing again.

_"Annie…Where are you?  It is Sir Ian.  I have not left your side.  You are safe."_

_"The monster is killing my Momma…He's here."  Her voice was weaker._

_"There is no monster here, Annie.  It is only you…and I.  Remember I told you about Lady Sara?  She is just outside the closet.  She has great powers and wants to help you.  The Fair Lady Sara and I will protect you."_

_Nottingham rushed blindly in the void, feeling for Annie.  He had to find her quickly this time.  She was near…so close now._

_"Hold me…Please.  Just hold me."   He reached for her instinctively.  He could feel her this time.  Was that a good sign?  He did not know.  He knelt beside her, pressing her fragile body next to his, rocking her in his embrace._

He was still holding Annie when he was pulled back into the hospital room.  It had been bad.  He had to fight for control, to keep her from going deeper into the darkness.  Her will was so strong.  Exhausted with the effort, he brushed the damp hair from Annie's forehead as he caught his breath.

The child's complete meltdown had subsided.  Thanks to Nottingham.  Sara did not know what would have happened if he had not been there.  The stunned nursing staff looked upon the scene incredulously.  They had never seen anything like it. The senior nurse who had accosted Nottingham in the hallway previously was first to speak up.

"You can stay, my friend.  Not sure what just happened, but we're glad you're here."  

The elder nurse secured the IV into Annie's arm, then grabbed her chart to make a note of the incident, not knowing what to write.  The nurse smiled and gave a maternal pat to Nottingham's right shoulder as he lay near the child weak from fatigue, winking again to Sara as she left the room.

Ian clung to the small, fragile child in his exhaustion.  His breathing mirrored that of Annie's, who was now drifting off to sleep.  Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead as he rested his head on the bed.  He could not stop from shaking.  It had been close.  The child was dangling on a precipice he just narrowly avoided himself.  Could she drag him in too far?  Despite the personal danger, he knew he had to try and save her.  He drifted into a deep sleep; unaware Sara was still near him.

She gently pulled back a strand of Ian's long, dark wavy hair that had fallen across his cheek, resting her hand on his broad shoulder.  Nottingham did not stir.  The Witchblade had sent images to her brain how dangerously close she had come to loosing them both.  

Was Ian strong enough to bring Annie back?  All Sara knew was that status quo was not acceptable. 


	4. Alliance and Reprisal

**Chapter Four – Alliance & Reprisal**

Captain Bruno Dante sat at his desk behind a closed door staring out the small, dirty window of his office that was obscured only by a cheap set of mini-blinds.  The sky was dark and gloomy, thunder rumbled in the distance, coloring his mood even more.  Unconsciously, he rocked his chair.  His anger was building.  Petzini could do nothing right in his mind and he was getting tired of her arrogance and insubordination.  She was just like her father, the holier than thou son of a bitch.  Clinching his teeth, he buzzed his secretary.

"Get me Petzini."  He was on his third cup of coffee and it was only seven in the morning.

Joanna had been his secretary for only the last three months.  He had run off two others prior to her and he was about to loose her.  He was a pompous ass, she thought.  There was never a 'Good morning, Joanna'.  He barked orders like she was a trained seal.  Joanna had known and respected James Pezzini and his daughter Sara.  Reluctantly, she called Sara's cell phone, knowing it was too early in the morning.

Sara's phone rang as she was restlessly turning on the hard cot for the umpteenth time.  It lay on the nightstand to her right.  Grabbing it quickly, she hit the send button to stop the racket and headed out of the room.  Annie had not stirred but Nottingham had been disturbed.  He inhaled a deep breath and snuggled closer to Annie, perhaps falling back to sleep she hoped.  He would be sore having slept in that position all night.

"Pezzini here."

"Sara?  Sorry to call you so early but Captain Dante has requested I reach you.  Can you take the call?"  Joanna's tone was polite and professional, but Sara knew her underlying sentiments for her latest boss.

"Of course, Joanna.  What else am I going to say?"  Sara had wandered into the quiet halls of the St. Elizabeth hospital, pacing in front of the room.  It was shift change for the nurses.

"Smart girl."  Joanna connected her to Dante.

"Petzini?"

"Yes, Captain?  What can I do for you?"  It was difficult to show respect for a man who couldn't even pronounce her name.  She knew he did so deliberately.  This sign of disrespect had started with her father.

"Where the hell did you get this APB description?  I heard your witness is catatonic, Petzini."  His sarcasm was apparent.

"Annie Kensington, sir.  Our witness' name is Annie Kensington.  That's the description we'd like to go with, sir."  She skirted the issue of how it was obtained.

"And you want police protection for a so-called 'witness' who's gonna be spending the rest of her life in an asylum.  Is that right, Petzini?"  He barked.

"We don't know that, sir.  She could come out of this anytime.  We have to be ready."

"Your police protection is denied.  Our limited resources can be better spent.  If you want to spend your time nursemaid to that catatonic kid, then do it, but you'd better keep up with your caseload.  Is that clear?"  He was enjoying this moment.  She could hear it in his voice.

"Yes, sir." Sara did not try to hide her resentment.

There was a long moment of silence.  She had thought the phone had gone dead.  There was no such luck.

"Been talking to your partner Woo about this plan of yours.  I've got the order sitting in front of me…just needs my signature."  The contempt in his voice was unmistakable even over the fiber optics…and it was not just another case of 'bad cellular'.

"I appreciate your promptness, sir."  She pandered to him.  She hoped she could keep the disrespect out of her voice for the feeling was mutual.

"I just want you to know, Petzini, if this doesn't work, it's your job.  I am holding you personally accountable."  He enjoyed making her life miserable, as if finding a potential serial killer was not enough on her plate right now.

"Understood, Captain.  Anything else?"  It was imperative she keep her temper, remain professional.  She knew it would get to him the most.

"I'm personally going to oversee implementing the plan to trap the suspect.  Our limited resources are better spent under my supervision.  There will be a press conference this morning at nine."

"Should I be in attendance, sir?"  She inquired but knew what his answer would be.  If the plan worked, he would take credit for the idea.  If it failed, he would have someone to blame.

"No, Detective.  Just do your damn job."  He rudely ended the conversation.

"Well, thank you, sir.  Just doing my job.  No need to thank me, Captain."  She mocked as she clipped the phone to her jeans.

"Anything I can do, Sara?"  She turned to find Nottingham stretching his stiff back at the door to Annie's room.

"No, Nottingham.  I wish there were."  He looked perplexed at her last statement.

"Nothing that a new boss wouldn't cure."  She clarified.  "How about I get us some breakfast since you scored me dinner last night?"  He accepted with a sleepy nod of his head.  The cobwebs had not cleared yet.

Back at the 11th precinct, Dante executed the order to set the trap for the killer at the hospital.  Tossing the paperwork into his outbox, he sent for Orlinsky.  The corrupt and secret police brotherhood within the precinct headed by Dante, calling themselves the White Bulls, would be ready to pick up the pieces of Petzini's failure.  

Either way, he would win.

*****

The streets of New York were congested with traffic as Danny drove into the city.  The rain and storm clouds had a tendency to make people overly cautious, driving more slowly.  It gave him time to think as he drove straight to St. Elizabeth's with only the cadence of his windshield wipers to keep tempo with his thoughts and the steady drone of rain as it buffeted his car.  Nottingham's appearance at the hospital yesterday had concerned him yet it didn't seem to have such an effect on his partner.  Was there something going on there that she had not confided in him?  As long as he had known Sara, she seemed to be attracted to men who lived on the fringes of society.  Normalcy would not do for Sara Pezzini, he thought.  There would be no house in the suburbs for her.

Sara seemed to be attracted to Nottingham, but he sensed a deeper connection than merely physical.  Danny did not think of himself as a particularly spiritual person, but Sara was different.  He had always thought she had an old soul, something in her eyes conveyed this.  Strangely, he had seen the same thing in Nottingham's eyes.  He was still pondering this when he finally reached his destination, pulling into the parking lot at the hospital.

As he got off the elevator on the third floor, he turned right and headed for Annie's room.  He had bought a small stuffed bear in the gift shop that he hoped she would get to see if she ever came out of this.  He noticed the 24-hour police protection had not been initiated.  Walking into the room, he noticed Nottingham and Sara were just finishing a breakfast of cranberry muffins and Starbucks coffee.  They both looked up as he entered the room.

"Hey, partner."  Sara greeted him with a smile, grabbing the bear and setting it near Annie.

"Hey, Sara." He returned the greeting without taking his eyes off Nottingham, who raised his chin in return, nodding his salutation.

"We saved you some muffins…and there is an extra container of java, just the way you like it."  She added.

"Thanks, Pez.  You're the best."  He finally smiled in her direction.  An awkward moment of silence had followed.  It was Sara who spoke next.

"I don't want to disturb Annie.  Let's take a walk, partner."  She grabbed his arm as she walked past him.  The small waiting room down the hall would be their destination.

"Dante didn't approve the police protection for Annie.  He said 'our limited resources can be better spent'.  It's just you and me, partner…and Nottingham." Sara informed him.  Danny was used to Dante's roadblocks but he remained strangely silent.

"What's up, Danny?  I know you've got something on your mind."  She did know him well.

He looked into the eyes of his long time partner before he spoke.

"What is going on between you and Nottingham, Sara?  He's an assassin, for cryin' out loud."  Danny knew Sara was a deeply private person.  He hated to ask her about Nottingham, but his apprehension for his partner far outweighed his political correctness.  Nottingham was a dangerous man, surely Sara could see this.

Sara knew Danny hated being in the position of asking her about her personal life.  He was usually patient, waiting for her to spill her guts over a beer. He was obviously quite worried.  Sara knew her partner deserved an answer.  She just wasn't sure herself what that answer would be.

"I can honestly say…I don't know, Danny.  I've been trying to figure that one out myself."  She knew that she had to reason this out more and was not prepared to tell him about the Witchblade and its control over her…or its ties to Irons and Nottingham.

"Is there something…Are you sleeping with him?"  Danny knew he had no right to ask that question, but he could not help himself.  He tried hard to sustain a look into her eyes, but failed.

"No, I am not sleeping with him."  Sara struggled to keep the emotion from her voice.  

Anyone else and she would have been angry, but she knew Danny well.  He had only asked out of concern for her.  The telepathic sex was yet another secret to keep from her partner.  Hell, she didn't even understand it herself.  And Danny may have believed telepathic sex before he'd believe Nottingham to be a virgin.

"It's just that I know how you are attracted to…let's just say, you are attracted to men off the beaten path, but Nottingham?  Hell, he's not even from the same planet, Sara."

"That's not like you to be so judgmental, Danny."  After a very long moment, he nodded in agreement.  He knew he would have to be satisfied with just trusting Sara.  That was all the answer he would get today.  Normally, it was enough.

"If it makes you feel any better, I think Nottingham has been helping Annie.  Somehow, he is making a connection to her.  I don't claim to understand it, but I have seen it many times now."  She offered.

"I'm glad, Sara…for Annie's sake.  Not to bring up a nasty subject, but what else did Dante say this morning?"

"Yeah…Gotta tell you, partner.  I love getting an early morning wake up call from the devil himself.  He's supposed to have a press conference at nine this morning.  He's taking over the plan to trap our guy.  Guess if it goes well, he takes the credit.  If not, I get the blame."

"He grilled me yesterday, too.  How much does Nottingham know about this?"  He asked.

"I told him everything this morning.  I think Annie needs him…so I thought he should know what the risks are."

"Guess so.  Is he going to stick, Sara?"

"I don't think I could remove him with a crane, Danny.  He wants to help her."

Danny and Sara briefly discussed how their time would be spent, both day and night.  Keeping up with their caseload and protecting Annie would be a real commitment, but a resolution both were willing to make.  With Nottingham's help, they could do it.

"Let's get back to the room.  Why don't you get a change of clothes, reacquaint yourself with your apartment?  I can stay with Annie."

"Nottingham needs to stay with Annie, too.  She had a horrifying nightmare the other night.  He was the only one that could get her stable.  I'm afraid of another episode.  A break for him may be in order though."

Sara explained to Nottingham that she was making a quick trip to her apartment, but that she would be back shortly.  If Annie were not the primary concern for them all, Sara would have been very apprehensive to leave the two of them alone together.  Sara had faith they would behave, at least until she got back.  She left Danny and Ian staring at each other as she departed with a smile on her face.

"Boys will be boys."  She shook her head as she walked down the hall, muttering under her breath.  "I hope they don't go marking their territory."

Danny pulled a chair next to Annie's bed on the opposite side as Irons' protege, sitting with his arms across his chest in a defensive posture not unnoticed by Nottingham.

"Please…have some breakfast, Detective." Ian offered.

"We need to get some things straight between us, Nottingham."  Danny ignored his offer.

"By all means, Detective.  Let us clear the air.  What is on your mind?"  Nottingham sat in exactly the same fashion, mirroring Danny's position.  He glared at the man across the room; his voice was even yet guarded.

"I don't know what your interest is in Sara, but I will not stand by and watch her get hurt.  She and I have been partners and friends for a long time.  I want what's best for her."

"Then we have no argument, Detective.  I live to serve, Sara.  I would die to protect her."   His answer was so simple, so matter-of-fact.

"Are you mocking me, Nottingham?"  Danny was getting perturbed, confused by his last remark.

He seemed sincere but what he said did not make sense.  This was not the first time he had witnessed Nottingham saying something cryptic.  Danny also reminded himself this man kills for a living.  Confucius says, 'Don't piss off a rattler when he's coiled up in front of you'…something like that.

Ian knew not how to explain why he was in service to Sara, especially as it regarded the Witchblade.  Yet, he wanted to reach Danny, to make him understand. Ian had been trained to lower his eyes in deference to his master.  The only time he looked directly into someone's eyes was just before taking their life or inflicting harm at his master's command.  He was not accustomed to making eye contact as a method of communicating.  Nottingham lowered the arms across his chest, and leaned forward in his chair resting his hands on his knees, looking Danny in the eye.  No more games.

"I would not mock anyone who means so much to Sara.  I apologize if that is how it appears.  If Sara would allow me to do so, I would serve her exclusively…and yes; I would die to protect her.  I feel the same for Annie.  She does not deserve any of this."

Danny was taken back by his sincerity.  He had not expected this.  He was beginning to understand Sara's willingness to accept Nottingham's assistance with Annie.  Could they trust Irons' henchman with this innocent child?  Would he trust his own child to this man?  Danny thought his answer would have been negative, but his gut told him otherwise.  After a long moment of silence, he responded, relying on his instincts.

"Truce?"  He asked of Nottingham, extending his hand.

Direct contact with another human being, like a handshake, was foreign to Nottingham, who still wore his black, leather gloves.  They had become second nature to him.  This moment with Danny was significant.  He slowly removed his right glove and returned the gesture.  Danny had no idea the gravity of this display.

"Truce."  Ian reached across the bed to shake Danny's hand.  They both hoped this peace treaty would not be the death of them.

When Sara returned, she was dressed in jeans and a soft gray, long sleeved sweater, looking refreshed, carrying an overnight bag with her.  She had half-expected to find Danny and Ian glowering at each other, having sat in silence the whole time.  They were strangely civil to one another.  She wanted to ask what had transpired, but she thought it was best to leave well enough alone.

"Hey Nottingham…you probably could use a break and get freshened up, too.  You probably need to check in with Irons."  She offered.

Nottingham had almost forgotten Irons would be expecting him back from Paris today.  He dreaded the subterfuge required with Irons.  He would take a cab back to the airport to pick up his luggage from the locker he had rented.  Deep in thought, he was visualizing his conversation with his master.  He did not notice the camera crew that was filming live in front of the St. Elizabeth hospital as he departed the front of the building.

The rains had subsided, but a real storm was brewing.

*****

There was a chill in the air of the dining room of the Irons' estate.  It could have something to do with the dark and dreary day outside, but perhaps it had more to do with the sole occupant of the room, who was reputed to be able to suck the warmth from any chamber.  The décor was opulent and formal, some might even say pretentious.  Well-paid artisans had specially designed the cherry wood paneling for him.  The crystal chandelier hanging overhead was created in accordance with his specifications.  Billionaire Kenneth Irons surrounded himself with the best of everything.  The elaborate and ornate interior reflected the ego of the estate's main inhabitant.  Irons' white blond hair was perfectly combed straight back from his face, not a hair out of place.  His Nordic good looks were a testament to the finest pampering money could buy.  Vanity would not permit him to indulge in anything less.  His cold and pale, blue eyes perused the newspaper casually.  He was still attired in his navy blue silk pajamas with a black, silk robe.  The robe did little to keep him warm.  

"Did someone not pay the utility bill this month?  Why is it so blasted cold in here."  He bellowed.  A servant quickly ducked into the room to throw another couple of logs into the fireplace across the room and turn up the thermostat.

"Anything else I can do, sir?" Irons noted the way the little man trembled as he spoke.  He smirked at how easily the man was intimidated.

"Refill my coffee, then you may go."  Irons enjoyed seeing the servants jump at his every command then disappear like roaches into the woodwork.  The servant trembled as he poured the coffee, then scurried from the room.

He expected Nottingham back from Paris today.  The quickly arranged trip had been a diversion.  Irons had hoped to get his faithful servant out of town to distance him from Detective Sara Pezzini, the wielder of the Witchblade.  It was becoming painfully obvious to Irons that Nottingham was growing increasingly more loyal to Sara.  He had counted on Ian's ineptness with women and Sara's aversion to his freakish servant to keep them apart.  In retrospect, this strategy may not have been adequate.  He may have to devise another plan.  

The news had been playing silently on the television monitor tucked away behind one of the automated cherry wood panels.  The television and the panel were both controllable by a remote.  He turned up the sound as a local news story caught his attention. 

The talking head was a blond young newswoman from VCN, the Vorschlag Cable Network.

"…Captain Bruno Dante of the NYPD held a press conference this morning to inform the public of the latest development in the "Lonely Hearts Killer" case.  It appears the police may have a witness to the brutal murder of Sandra Kensington, the latest victim.  Sources are not speculating on the identity of this witness, but this reporter has learned the mystery witness may be hospitalized at the new cardiac wing of the St. Elizabeth's hospital under armed guard.  We are here outside the hospital…"

As the camera crew panned the front of the hospital, Irons noticed a very familiar figure, dressed in black, leaving the front of the building.  The mannerisms and the way he walked confirmed it.  What was Nottingham doing there?  Sara must not be far away.  He was not expected back from Paris until later today.  

"Get me a damned phone!"  He bellowed, sending servants scurrying in all directions.

Irons first call was to the Vorschlag jet hangar where he learned that Nottingham had returned yesterday afternoon.   His next few calls were to the arms markets Nottingham was to meet with in Paris.  It seems his meetings had gone exceedingly well and he had made Irons millions in arms sales, but he had still failed to report his success to Irons.  His next call would be to Nottingham himself.

As Nottingham left the airport by cab, luggage in hand, his cell phone sounded.  He took a deep breath and closed his eyes briefly.  Let the games begin.

"Yes, sir?"  Nottingham answered.

"Where are you, young Nottingham?"  Irons tried to appear casual.

"I am just leaving the airport…on my way to the estate."  He replied artfully.

"Did you just return from Paris?"  Irons asked, waiting to determine how far his servant would go to lie to him.

"It was a successful trip, sir.  I think you will be pleased."  Nottingham warily dodged yet another verbal bullet.

"I will be in the Great Room upon your return.  Please join me."  Irons clicked off.  Nottingham tensed as he prepared himself for another bout with his master.  Irons, the great chess master, never telegraphed his next moves.  Ian had no idea what to expect.

The Great Room was quiet as Nottingham entered, the only sound coming from the blazing fire in the hearth and the gentle, rhythmic sound of the grandfather clock in the far corner.  Irons sat at his favorite, leather wingback chair, gazing hypnotically into the fire.  He let Nottingham stand, head bowed in silence, for over ten minutes before he spoke.

"When did you plan on telling me you had returned yesterday…and not today from Paris?  You have learned to dodge a straight question it seems."  Irons still glared into the fire.

No response would be adequate.  It was a no win scenario for Nottingham.  He prepared himself for Irons' retribution.   His mind started to shut down as it always did before Irons' abuse.  His physical body would suffer the consequences, but his mind was free to escape.

"You are correct, master.  I did return yesterday.  I sought out Sara so that I may provide you an updated report upon my return."  It was the best he could manage.  

He knew it would not keep him out of the hurricane's path.  Irons knew nothing of his telepathic abilities or he would have tried exploiting them for his own purpose.   Nottingham would also keep his involvement with Annie a secret for fear Irons would prevent him from helping her, out of petty cruelty and spite.

Irons grinned wickedly, turning toward his servant finally.

"When did you start to think me such a fool?  You have learned to be quite cagey in your answers of late. What you fail to realize is…you can't fool me, young Nottingham."  With that, Irons barked an order.

"Security!"  Three armed guards, that normally patrol the estate, entered the room in a rush.  It was obvious that Irons had planned this all along.  It was too well rehearsed.  

Nottingham conceded his fate, holding out his hands in front of him.  He had been wearing a black shirt and trousers under his heavy black coat.  The coat and shirt were stripped from him.  The guards bound him in shackles linked to an iron chain suspended from the ceiling.  Pulled up by the chains, his feet were unable to touch the floor, so the shackles cut into his wrists, a result of his own weight.  As the guards left the room, one of the senior men looked back upon the scene that he had witnessed many times before.  This was a relationship he truly did not understand, he thought.

The guards departed the room, leaving him alone with his abuser.  Nottingham could have killed the guards and escaped Irons' cruelty once and for all, but he would not be able to keep an eye on Irons and his plans for Sara.  To best serve Sara, he would have to remain and submit to Irons' abuse and violations.

Nottingham had not resisted.  Irons knew that he would not do so.  This little exercise had been played out so many times before.  Still, the punishment never dissuaded Nottingham from doing what he would do.  In all the years he had tried to manipulate his behavior, Irons knew this would be yet another futile attempt to break him.  He had failed in the past, and he would fail here.  The punishment was more for Irons' benefit, for his own personal gratification, to release his anger.  As Nottingham struggled for air to fill his lungs as he twisted from the ceiling in irons, his abuser continued.

"I am sure you realize this pains me more than it will you.  You bring this on yourself."  A depraved smile crossed his lips, giving rise to speculation that he had not been sincere in his last remark.

The first of many lashes were laid upon Nottingham's back, cutting into his flesh with a cat-of-nine-tails leather whip.  Resisting the urge to cry out in pain, Nottingham suffered in silence as the leather straps did what they were designed to do.  Large welts and open cuts were layering across his back, on top of old scars of similar abuse.  Irons in his fury struck Ian countless times, loosing count after ten lashes.  The abuse escalating as his lust for punishing Ian's deceit grew out of control.  Nottingham, however, counted all twenty lashes.  His disassociated mind reflected upon the many facial expressions of Sara Pezzini.  For every lash that tore open his back, he would recount his favorite ones.  

As Nottingham dangled from the iron chain, his body was sticky with his own blood and his sweat stung the open wounds on his back.  He struggled for air as he fought for consciousness.  Irons dropped the bloody whip at his feet.  The cold reality of what he had done was manifest in the droplets of Nottingham's blood that mottled his face and stained his dress shirt and trousers.  He departed the Great Room to shower and change clothes before the shame of what he had done overwhelmed him, leaving Nottingham to hang in pain and degradation, like a piece of meat.

Nottingham drifted in and out of consciousness.  He did not know how long he had hung there.  His thoughts turned again to Sara.  The pain seemed to ease when he was reminded of her soft green eyes and her long dark hair.  Her smile could sustain him.  Images of the wielder came and went through his mind.  He became aware of men in the room again.  Tension from the chain loosened and he was unceremoniously dropped to the floor.  He fought to stay upright, but could not stand.  He had sunk to his knees as they freed him from the shackles that bound his cut wrists.  Shaking with the pain, he could not raise his head.

"You put up with this to stand between me and the wielder.  You know this…and I know this."  Irons revealed, attired in clean clothes once again.  

Nottingham could not see him, nor did he want to see the man that had just lain open his back.  It took him a long while before he could stand with the assistance of a nearby wall and a strategically positioned chair.  Still, he had not cried out in agony, not wanting to give his abuser the satisfaction.  Irons had watched his exertion without aiding him.  He almost did not hear Nottingham's faint response.

"Do with me what you will…I have long since stopped caring."  

He left the room with as much dignity as he could muster.  His only thought was of returning to Sara and Annie at the hospital under the cover of darkness, escaping Irons once again in order to do what he needed to do.

Nottingham had returned to his room and collapsed on his bed, not having the strength or the ability to clean and treat his own wounds.  He lapsed into unconsciousness as the sun went down, casting shadows on the walls of his room.  

Irons tried to deny his accountability by attempting to enjoy a hearty dinner and a solitary evening of fine music and a good book, none of which could distract him.  He passed the threshold of Nottingham's room on his way to bed, deliberately listening at the door for any sound within.  Hearing nothing, he opened the door slightly, peering into the dark room.  He spied the silhouette of Nottingham, as he still lay shirtless atop his bed.  Irons had suspected as much.  He entered the room, turning on a desk lamp near the door, to better inspect the damage.  In his fury, he had lost control, inflicting far more injury than he had thought.  Nottingham's normally tanned skin was pale with the loss of blood.  His breathing was shallow and erratic.  His back looked like raw meat.

In a quiet voice, Irons made a phone call from Nottingham's bedside phone, requesting the assistance of a medical doctor he knew would make a house call and be discreet.  His servant would need stitches.  By the dim light in the room, Irons gazed upon Nottingham, as he lay unconscious before him.

"Why do you push me so?  You have brought this upon yourself, you know."  Irons was never guilty of anything, not when he could pass the blame elsewhere.

Irons knew his anger had gotten the better of him.  In retrospect, Nottingham had made him millions of dollars in arms sales.  He had far exceeded Irons' expectation in that regard, yet Irons had reacted to his deceit.  He had not tempered his anger.  Nottingham was as close to family as Irons would ever have.  He had many servants but this one was special.  This one knew all his faults and his secrets and did not pass judgement or betray him. This newly found independence of Nottingham's scared Irons.  That was why he could become so enraged with Ian.  He could not imagine his life without young Nottingham in it.  

Not being able to look upon his handiwork any longer, Irons left the room to wait for the doctor downstairs.  Denying his own culpability, he would do what he could to repair Nottingham's flesh as contrition for his sins.  Mending his relationship with him would take a great deal more thought.


	5. Allegiances

**Chapter Five – Allegiances**

Danny and Sara had spent the afternoon catching up on their caseload, then observed the implementation of their plan to trap the killer as expertly supervised by Captain Dante.  The mock hospital wing had been equipped and manned to look like the real thing.  Police personnel wearing medical attire were covering the area.  At the end of the corridor, a policeman in uniform was stationed to give the illusion the star witness to Sandra Kensington's murder was behind the closed door.  Special surveillance cameras were strategically set up to monitor hall activity and exit doors.  In addition, if anyone inquired about Annie Kensington, an alert would go to the 11th Precinct.  The trap had been set soon after the press coverage that released the information on the witness.  

Nottingham had left Annie's side with the intention of taking a short break to shower and change his clothes and to report to Kenneth Irons.  He had not returned all day and it was after midnight.

With Nottingham gone for so long, Sara hovered around Annie, worried the frail child would lapse into one of her nightmares.  Where had he gone?  She knew he would not be gone this long from Annie deliberately.  Something must have happened with Irons.  Sara paced the floor of the small hospital room watching every move the young girl made.  She was growing more restless, setting up for another terror attack like last night.  If Nottingham was unable to help, could the Witchblade be counted on to connect with Annie?  She had no experience with this.  Her anxiety was growing exponentially as the young girl's breathing became more ragged and shallow.

Annie's condition had distracted Sara or she would have noticed a tall, dark man walking slowly down the hallway toward the girl's room.  He wore faded blue jeans and a white shirt under a long, dark all-weather coat.  His skin was pale and his eyes were sluggish, as if he were quite ill and ready to pass out.

"Hold it, sir.  Are you looking for the emergency room?" A night nurse held up her hand just outside Annie's door, but the man had already stopped, dropping his head as if he were disoriented.

Sara barely heard the exchange outside the room for she was focused on Annie's condition.  The distraction didn't register at first.  The young attendant called her to the door.

"What is it?" She asked.  

Her jaw dropped as she gazed on Nottingham.  He looked feverish and extremely pale.  He was about to fall over.

"Nottingham?  What happened to you?  It's okay.  He's helping me with Annie."  

The young nurse instinctively grabbed Nottingham's elbow to help him into a chair near the child's bedside.  Helping to support his other arm, Sara had her doubts that Nottingham even knew where he was.  She helped him off with his coat, noticing he winced with pain as he gingerly shrugged out of it.  Bandages around his wrists could be seen near the cuffs of his long-sleeved white shirt.  Sara closed the door of the room to give them some privacy.

"What did he do to you, Ian?"  Sara was seething in her contempt for Irons.  Nottingham leaned on Annie's bed for support, grabbing her small, right hand in his.  He stroked her forehead gently.

"…Not important.  How is she?  She doesn't…look good."  He replied groggily, grimacing in pain.  Sara wondered if he himself had looked in the mirror lately.

Could he make the difficult connection in his weakened state?  He struggled for a focus, a center.  His concern for Annie and his condition made it nearly impossible.  He shook his head to clear the pain, making several attempts to connect with Annie.  

"Stay close, Sara.  I may need your help."  Sara stared at him incredulously.  What did he mean by that?  If he expected her to help connect with Annie, this scared her to death.  It terrified her to think her inexperience could somehow hurt the little girl…fail her.

Ian's breathing became shallow.  He began to tremble as he had before, his eyes glazed over.  Just as it looked as if he were about to fail in connecting with Annie once more, his right hand reached back for Sara's, grasping her hand in his.  The Witchblade projected its angry red hues along the walls and ceiling of the room.  Images of swirling darkness invaded Sara's mind.  Flashes of the murder of Sandra Kensington burned into Sara's psyche.  

_Screams…gut wrenching screams_

_Blood…so much blood_

_Slashing butcher knife_

_Hatred…Frenzy…Kill_

_Annie screaming…sheer horror_

_Flashes of Sandra Kensington's terror immobilized Sara…encircled her in the gloom._

_Someone was holding her hand in the abyss…Nottingham?_

_His warmth was like a beacon in the darkness._

_He guided her to Annie, the screaming growing more intense as they approached her in the vast emptiness._

"Annie?   It is Sir Ian.  I have brought Lady Sara. We are here to safeguard you, little one."

_"Sir Ian?  The monster is back.  He is hurting Momma again.  Help me…PLEASE."_

_Ian was slow to respond.  Annie noticed the difference in him._

_"No, Annie.  Lady Sara and I can…ward off the evil monster…and defend you."  His voice was faint._

_"What is wrong, Sir Ian? Are you there?  Lady Sara?"  The child was beginning to panic and was appealing to Sara for help.  "Sir Ian is weaker…I can barely feel him."_

_Sara had noticed this as well.  She stepped in._

_"We're here, Annie.  There are no monsters here.  Sir Ian and I are with you."  Sara repeated his mantra._

_Nottingham had found Annie in the darkness.   He led Sara to the small child, caressing her gently.  He helped Sara do the same.  The feeling of three souls comforting each other was amazing to Sara.  They were as one…and yet separate._

_Annie calmed down noticeably._

_"I will help you, Sir Ian.  I want to punish the monster for taking my Momma away."  Her voice was guarded._

_"You can not do it from inside the closet, Annie.  The light of day…beckons you.  Remember always…I am your knight to command at will.  Are you ready to help Lady Sara and I?"_

_"Soon, Sir Ian.  Very soon."_

_"I am glad, Annie.  Lady Sara and I need you.  Vanquishing evil is not for the faint of heart.  You must be brave, my Annie.  The Fair Lady and I love you very much."_

_Sara's heart swelled as she heard Nottingham's gentle exchange with this small child.  No wonder Annie had formed such a quick bond with him.  Ian's confidence in communicating to this little girl was a sharp contrast to his struggle in verbalizing with others, especially herself.  In this imaginary world of Knights and Ladies, Nottingham reigned supreme and was unparalleled._

_Annie started to pull back.  Nottingham released Sara's hand._

Sara was pulled back into the room as Nottingham gasped in agony, sitting upright in his chair, his hands braced against the chair's arm rests.  His breathing was dangerously erratic as if he were having a seizure.  Staring blankly into a corner of the room, he slowed his breathing, his trembling was considerable at first but grew less discernible.  While Nottingham was concentrating on his own recovery, Sara straddled his chair, unbuttoning his shirt.  Part of her realized the reality of the situation, but another part was reminded of the sounds of his breathing, the smell of his skin and his hair in her carnal thoughts of him the other night.  Images flashed of their telepathic connection, flooding her memory.  She closed her eyes trying to clear this from her mind.  Now, he needed her help.  Eyes glazed over, he was oblivious to her forwardness for he was not yet back in the room with her.  He moaned and lowered his head as she leaned him forward onto the bed.  He was too weak to resist.  She wondered if he had even been aware of what she was doing.

His back was laden with raised and swollen welts colored an angry red.  The open wounds were stitched and bandaged.  She looked under one of the bandages.  The fresh wounds were atop old scars, giving voice to earlier violations.  She had seen prior evidence of Irons' cruelty, but this had been the worst.  Understanding the relationship between them stumped her.  

Something else caught her eye.  On his lower right side, she recognized the tattoo worn by the elite Special Forces Unit called the Black Dragons.  She had first seen it during an autopsy of one of the dead Dragons.  Nottingham's version was modified.  His Dragon was in shackles.

Nottingham raised his head, suddenly aware of Sara next to him.  Realizing she had unbuttoned his shirt and inspected the damage without his consent, he pushed her away as best he could.

"No…None of your concern.  Stop it."  

It took him awhile to gather the strength to rise from the chair and walk to the door.  He looked back at her, then to Annie, before he departed the room slowly in silence.  His fever and the constant burning pain of his wounds left him beyond caring what most people would think, but the wielder was different.  In front of her, he was ashamed of this sign of weakness and degradation for she may deem him unworthy of serving her.  The thought of that was intolerable.  Sara debated whether she should follow him.  The anguish in his eyes was obvious, and it was not just attributable to the physical pain.  He would not suffer this in isolation, as he had most of his life.  Whether he would allow her to help or not, she would have to try.  

Like Annie, it was important for him to understand he was not alone. 

Leaving the night nurse to watch over Annie for a moment, Sara walked down the hospital corridor to the chapel.  She knew he would be there.  As she crossed the threshold, she noticed Nottingham hunched down in one of the last pews to the left.  Not being able to sit with his back against the hard wooden seat, he was kneeling, resting his head on his arms in front of him.  Sliding in next to him, she listened for his breathing, waiting for him to begin.

"I almost lost her…she trusts me and I almost…" He could not finish, his face still obscured by his arms.  Sara could barely hear him.  His voice quaked with emotion.

"You don't have to tell me this, but…why?  Why did he beat you?"  Sara made the leap that it had been Irons who had tortured Nottingham.  It was not much of a leap.

There was a very long period of silence.  Sara was sure he would not answer her, but she would remain patient.  She was rewarded for her tenacity.

"Came back from Paris early…lied by omission.  My selfishness almost cost Annie."  He raised his head, his chin resting on his right arm.  He stared blankly ahead towards the altar, unashamed for her to see the tears that streaked his face.

"I haven't known you a very long time, but selfishness is not a trait I would associate with you.  You can't give as much as you have to Annie and be selfish, Ian."

Sara pondered why Nottingham would think himself selfish.  He had come back from Paris early and had not reported to Irons upon his return.  Why?  It took a while to do the math.  Like a bolt of lightening, the answer came to her.  He had come looking for her instead, finding her at the hospital.  Without thinking further, she plunged ahead allowing her heart and her gut instincts to guide her.

"You came back early to see me."

Nottingham turned his head to look into her eyes.  Was she reading his thoughts?  Even if he had wanted to hide the truth, he could not now.  His reaction had given him away.

"I'm a detective, remember?  You found me the day you returned.  You went to see Irons the next day.  Right?"  Although she knew any relationship with Nottingham would be brimming with problems, this gesture from him had touched her.  It occurred to her that she just might be willing to take things a day at a time for she was beginning to see he might be worth the investment.  

Still, Nottingham did not answer.  He continued to stare ahead with a pained look in his eyes.  To distract him, she changed the subject.

"I noticed your tattoo…a Black Dragon in shackles?  Mobius had one without the…" Sara suddenly saw the irony.  "Black Dragon in irons.  I get it."  She was embarrassed to have brought it up; afraid she had opened an old wound.  She knew he had plenty of those.  Nottingham shut his eyes recalling the past.

"The rest of my unit was getting the tattoo…I was already such an outcast by then, I thought it might help me fit in.  Irons found out about it."  Nottingham withdrew into his memories, no longer with Sara in the chapel.  

"To show his disapproval of my initiative, he added the irons against my will…to make a point.  I guess it was his way of branding his property."  He shook his head in disgust as he recalled the incident.

Sara could feel his pain, not needing the help of the Witchblade to do so.  The Black Dragons were misfits from society to begin with.  For him to consider himself an outcast from this group would not be a bad thing, she reasoned.  Yet, with Nottingham's history of mental abuse from Irons his whole life, he would probably view himself as a total monstrosity.  She wanted to reach out to him, but did not know where to touch that would not hurt him.  He was wrapped in his tormented past.  Leaning closer to him on the pew, she brushed back his dark, wavy hair to gently massage his neck.

"Why do you let him hurt you, Ian?  You could leave him…walk away."  She pleaded.

"He would just send someone else after you…Someone who doesn't…" The feel of Sara's hands on his neck thoroughly distracted him.  Caught up in his retrospection and the feverish pain of his back, he did not realize what he had just revealed.  Disoriented, he tried to recall the words just fresh from his mouth.

His revelation took her by surprise.  All this time, she had been confused by the relationship Nottingham had with his master, Kenneth Irons.  She had made many unfair judgements, thinking Nottingham to be weak and completely dominated by Irons.  It had been quite the opposite.  Ian had been the strong one, tolerating his master's abuse to serve the wielder.  Unbelievable!  Selfish, my ass, she thought.

"What did I just say, Sara?"  Nottingham looked apprehensively to her.

"You said you needed some pain medication.  I distinctly heard you say that."  She tried to distract him.

"No.  Can't.  I won't be able to reach Annie unless my head is clear.  It has been hard enough…"

"Listen, Ian.  You're not alone in this.  You, Danny, and I are going to help Annie through this.  Then, we're gonna find the bastard that killed her mother.  Let's focus on that for now."  Sara leaned forward in the pew to look into his eyes.

"I want to find him, Sara…kill him.  It is who I am…what I do."  He admitted.  

Sara shook her head.  Of all people, the wielder of the Witchblade would understand Nottingham as a warrior and his view of life and death.  She was sure Ian had developed his own sense of right and wrong to help him justify his actions, despite Irons' wanting to create a mindless, soulless mercenary, completely subjugated to his will.  If this were not true, he would not be willing to sacrifice so much for Annie.

"Don't you see, Nottingham…Ian.  That is not all you are.  You are Annie's white knight.  She has a chance to come out of this because of you.  I am _so proud of you."  Sara's eyes welled with tears.  With all his pain, Nottingham still found something to give to Annie._

Sara had called him Annie's white knight.  As Ian reflected on this, he knew he had spent a lifetime walking a fine line between light and dark, a line he had to develop by himself with only Irons as his adult role model.  The light held no particular fascination for him in the traditional sense for he had made up his own version of the light over the years.  Since childhood, his fantasy of being a knight helped him escape the cruel reality of his existence.  That is why he chose this fantasy for Annie so instinctively, to insulate her from the repeated terrors of reliving her mother's death.  It had been a very familiar friend to him and he hoped it would be for her as well.

Sara could see him fading fast; all was reflected in those beautiful eyes of his.

"Come on…let's get you to bed.  You're so weak the night nurse could take you down."  He grimaced as he painfully stood, straightening his back.  Sara was proud of him.  Had he heard that right?  No matter.  He could withstand any amount of pain for her.

"Lean on me, Ian.  Always."  She smiled as he put his right arm around her shoulders.  She, in turn, grabbed his far, left belt loop of his jeans with her left hand.  He would have to add the expression she had on her face right now to his list of favorites.  She continued.

"It's not much, but you would be doing me a favor if you took the cot…Hell, in your condition, you probably think I'm being considerate."  She smirked.  He smiled weakly at her attempt at humor.

"I would do anything to please you, Lady Sara." He replied, dishing it back.

"Humor, Sir Ian?  Is that humor?"  Sara chuckled for the two of them as they slowly walked back to Annie's room.  What Sara had taken as humor had been his reason for living and may one day be his reason for dying.  Still, he wanted her to have her moment of humor for he could live a lifetime in one of her smiles.

It would be her turn to take care of him, she thought.

Back in Annie's room, she helped him slip off his shirt.  "Don't move.  Let me do all the work."  She spoke softly.  

Kneeling at his feet, she helped him slip off his hiking boots that had been laced loosely.  If they had known each other better, she may have gotten him to remove his blue jeans, but not tonight.  Nottingham objected to Sara's subservient actions. 

"No, Sara.  You don't have to…" 

In his weakened state, she could probably take advantage of him, a thought that did not entirely displease her.  To distract her from her carnal thoughts, she let him go to the restroom to clean up a little while she visited the nurse's station to get some aspirin for his fever.  He was just coming out as she returned.

"Here…take these."  The questioning look in his eyes brought a quick reply from Sara.

"Don't worry…this is only aspirin…for your fever."  She handed him a glass of water and the pills, and watched as he downed the medication.

"Let me help you lie down on the cot.  Face down…" He moaned with his discomfort.

Sara filled a nearby water pitcher with cool water from the bathroom.  Hugging the pillow under his head, he lay on the cot, his face turned toward her.  After soaking a washrag in water, she gently dabbed the cool compress to his exposed swollen abrasions and cuts on his back.  Recalling a childhood lullaby her father used to hum to her as she nodded off to sleep, she quietly recounted the melody, bringing back memories of her father and lulling Nottingham to sleep in the process.  His beautiful mocha-colored eyes wavered for a short while, but then he was down for the count.  His muscles relaxed and his breathing had become rhythmic and steady.  She knew he no longer heard her singing but continued for a long while after he had fallen asleep.

A part of her knew Nottingham had never been sung to sleep before…until now.

*****

Unable to sleep, visions of Nottingham's torture still fresh in his mind, Irons sat bolt upright in bed.  Had it all been a nightmare?  No, his recollections had been too vivid.  He had done it all right, as he had many times before, always followed by the accompanying guilt.  Mercifully, the guilt did not linger.  Kenneth Irons did not do guilt.  It was a sign of weakness.  Laying back the comforter on his custom-made bed, he pulled on his black silk robe over matching pajamas, and headed down the hall to young Nottingham's room.

Ian's room was dark and cold.  Dawn would not arrive for another two hours, pouring its warm rays through the windows across the room.  Feeling for the lamp atop the console table to his right, Irons illuminated the room.  His servant was no where to be found.  His bed lay rumpled where he had collapsed earlier, his blood still staining the comforter.  Irons quickly searched the room, fearing Ian had passed out on the floor.  He found nothing.  Nottingham was gone.

His anger boiled to the surface again.  His loyal servant had chosen another to serve.  Irons knew he would have to deal with this betrayal once and for all.


	6. Dark Impulses

**Chapter Six – Dark Impulses**

She had 'user' written all over her, no different than any of the others.  He saw through her pathetic manipulations.  All women were deceivers…liars.  He had killed her in a bloody frenzy, yet it was less satisfying than the last.  It was always over too quickly.  He relished a good fight.  Before totaling overpowering them, the look of fear in their eyes and the desperate thrashing to live excited him, aroused him physically.  She had not been much of a fighter, which had enraged him.  Sandra Kensington was a mousy little thing.  She deserved to die, like all the others.  Her big mistake was playing up to him, hoping he would be the one to change her miserable life.  Well, he did just that.  He selected her, controlled her destiny, then killed her at will.  No one could stop him.   He had the power over each of them.

The bitch even looked like her.  He hadn't thought about her in a while but maybe that wasn't entirely true.  Deep down, he knew his thoughts were of her every time he killed.  His mother was a lying whore.  She had cheated on his father every chance she got.  Finally, when he was 15 years old, his father had enough and left home.  It was the last he saw of him.  

Good riddance, loser!  He made a vow never to be that pathetic.

Only being in New York City for the last two months, he had been renting a cheap motel room by the week.  You never knew when a fast exit was in order.  He had driven from Oklahoma, having worn out his welcome there.  It hadn't taken him long to find a mechanics job.  In a town this size, the garage had been a target rich environment for single women looking for his help, to put them out of their misery.  Over the years, he had developed a sense of charm that he used to ensnare his prey, not unlike wearing camouflage gear when hunting for deer.  As a tool of his trade, the more he captivated them, the easier it would be for him to isolate them for the kill.  He reached into the small refrigerator in his room to grab a beer, sat down in front of the television set on the worn, brown plaid sofa.  

His thoughts returned to her.

The men of Byron, Texas found his mother to be attractive with her long, straight dark hair and light eyes that changed from blue to green every time the warm, dust-filled winds blew through the small town.  Her petite frame was the envy of the other women of hicksville.  As a small child, he only remembered the cruelty in those eyes as she raised welts on his bare skin thrashing him with the thorny tree limbs of the mesquite tree before locking him in the darkened root cellar, many times without food or water.  Not wanting to confront her, his pathetic father would ignore the abuse, turning a blind eye to his suffering.

As he got older, he took out his frustration on the small animals he'd encounter on his family's property, discarding the burned or mutilated bodies in a heap at his secret hideaway fort near the creek.  One summer, the bitch caught him setting fire to a live rabbit and locked him out of the house for a week.  Dirty and hungry, he survived the Texas heat by drinking the filthy creek water and eating that damned rabbit.

As he grew older, living in backwater Texas had almost driven him crazy with boredom.  His favorite distraction was imagining the many ways he could kill her.  The fantasies grew more vivid every day.  Walking up behind her as she washed her hair in the sink, he often dreamed about struggling to hold her head under water until there were no more air bubbles.  The illusions would come to him any time of the day or night.  He would be chopping wood out back and imagine walking into the house, hacking her into small bits with the axe he kept so sharp.  His mother thought she was in control of his father and him, but she was wrong.

The last fantasy he had came when he was 19 years old.  It was the best one of all.  She had been ragging on him to get a job or move out.  He had been coring an apple in the kitchen.  Her voice filled his head, blocking out all else.  Over and over she would harp at him.  As she turned her back, he grabbed the butcher knife that lay in front of him, and with both hands, plunged it into her back to the hilt.  She turned to him with a look of disbelief in her eyes.  Staring right back, he drove the knife deeper into her with each plunge.  The intimacy of the moment excited him.  His face was so close to hers as he thrust into her over and over again, inhaling her last breath into his lungs as he shuttered with a consuming orgasm.  Her blood baptizing his face, granting him the power he now possessed.  That had been the best, most vivid fantasy of all.  Having lived in this illusionary world for so long, it took him a while to realize he had actually done it.  Her blue-green eyes those men found so attractive stared back at him, dead cold eyes now.

He finally gained control of his senses, buried the butcher knife out back, cleaned himself up, and made it look like a break in.  He casually walked over to an elderly neighbor's house and volunteered to do some chores for her.  He convinced her that he had come after lunch when it had actually been several hours later.  The postman had found the body as he looked through the open screen door at the front of the house.  It took the Sheriff's office a while to find him next door at the neighbor's.  The ignorant deputy really believed his crocodile tears.  It was presumed the work of a drifter, for as he soon learned and would come to count on, the small town mindset was to blindly assume 'it couldn't be one of us'.  The case was filed 'Unsolved'.

It didn't take him long to sell the family property and move out of town after the funeral.  There was nothing holding him back now.  He had been moving from state to state for the last ten years.

He already had his next user picked out.  He needed this one, like a drug addict needs a fix.  His fantasies consumed him.

"…Captain Bruno Dante of the 11th Precinct…Press conference…Lonely Hearts Killer."

That caught his attention.  The local news station pulled him from his past.

"Sandra Kensington…victim number three…Police now say they have a witness that has seen the killer.  The witness is being held under police custody at a new cardiac wing of the St. Elizabeth's Hospital…mild coronary…expected to fully recover."

What the hell are they talking about?  There was no witness.  His anger engulfed him, drowning him in his rage.  He threw the beer bottle across the room, unable to control himself.

"…APB issued for a large man…short brown hair…scar on his left cheek."

He now paced the room, his heart racing.  He knew he was too clever for them.  His next deceiver was ready for his taking.   Nothing would get in his way.  St. Elizabeth's would be only a slight detour.   

*****

With Dante's knowledge and Sara's encouragement, Danny had submitted information on the three murders to the VICAP database, the Violent Criminal Apprehension Program of the FBI.  Through the FBI's Behavioral Science Unit and its National Center for the Analysis of Violent Crime, the autopsy reports, photos, witness reports, and any evidence collected had been assessed to determine a profile of the killer.  Captain Dante would have been livid with their admission to the FBI that they needed help, but he had been receiving extreme political pressure from the mayor to 'find this sick bastard'.  So Danny and Sara agreed to work with the FBI in this manner.  It was not something they relished since they had hoped to solve this on their own, but they knew they needed help before the killer struck again.

Danny had the profile with him when he walked down the corridor of the hospital the next morning.

He was surprised to find Nottingham lying face down and shirtless on the cot to his right, with his partner sitting next to him.  Sara had evidently just finished cleaning and bandaging countless wounds on his back.

"What the hell happened to you, Nottingham?" Danny did not know Irons like Sara did.  His concern was apparent.

Nottingham raised up on one elbow and turned to Danny, shaking his head.

"Do you think this would be covered under workman's comp?"  Nottingham's attempt at humor was not reflected in his face.  It was clear he did not want to talk about it.

"Are you going to be able to help us with Annie, Ian?"  Danny had not used his first name before.  His regard was genuine.  He was beginning to accept Nottingham as part of their team.

Nottingham's injuries were extensive, but Danny figured they were his own business.  He was curious about who could inflict such wounds on someone as skilled as this trained mercenary but soon realized Nottingham would allow only one man to get close enough to inflict such harm.  Finally, understanding the workman's comp remark, he chose to give Ian his privacy.

"I am here, Danny…for Annie."  Nottingham looked pale but resolute.  Danny nodded in agreement.  A wounded yet determined Nottingham was far superior to a whole platoon of healthy soldiers.

"Don't know if you're up to it, but I brought us a caffeine fix and some assorted pastries for breakfast.  I just received the VICAP report and the FBI BSU profile.  Let's talk."

Rather than leave Annie alone, they huddled up near Nottingham who sat up on the edge of the cot, catching his breath with the pain.  To Danny's surprise, Sara assisted a wincing Nottingham to shrug into and button his shirt.  Danny felt like an intruder in an intimate moment between them.  Last night must have been significant for he could see their growing bond, even if they could not.  The more he was around Ian, the more he could see his partner's attraction, but it still unnerved him to see them together knowing their future was going to be uphill or nonexistent.  The two detectives pulled up the two chairs towards the cot and spoke quietly as they sipped coffee and ate their breakfast.

"We are most probably looking for a white male, age 20-30.  He is most likely a blue collar worker or laborer.  His modus operandi in all three killings is stabbing.  Using the victim's own butcher knife to kill could show he is in control and has no fear, or it might be an indication of poor planning or disorganization."  Danny read the profile slowly to allow Sara and Nottingham to understand the implications.

"There are indications he is a power seeker, killing at will.  He kills to show dominance and control over their life and death.  This is why he brutalizes them without tying their hands, killing them at their own homes, to demonstrate his superiority.  There are some indications he is a Mixed Presentation Killer since he appears to start out with a certain degree of organization that seems to deteriorate with the brutal nature of the crime.  He targets his victims in advance based on a certain profile and sets up dates with them denoting a certain level of organization, but then shows a disproportionate level of brutality."  Danny stopped for a moment.  "We call it 'overkill', Ian."

Looking toward the little girl in the hospital bed, Danny was reminded once again that Annie had witnessed her own mother's death first hand.  Sara knew what he was thinking as she reached over to grasp his hand.  Ian watched the exchange, knowing Sara was being supportive of her partner for reasons he did not need to fully understand.  Nottingham's eyes intently looked into Danny's to encourage him to read on.  Danny took a deep breath and continued.

"Victim commonality appears to be single women, dark hair, slender, light eyes, in their 20s, with modest incomes.  Since all three victims look similar, we can assume he is reenacting a significant event in his life.  Killing repeatedly a notable woman from his past, perhaps a mother or an old girlfriend.  In all three cases, he has committed the crime in apartment buildings, with others nearby.  In two of the cases, he left the apartment door open for discovery, which may be his way of taunting police, having no respect for them."  Danny took a sip of coffee before proceeding.

"This part was interesting.  They noticed the home addresses did not indicate a pattern but the victim's work addresses did.  See this map.  The home addresses are marked in red, but the work addresses are here in blue."  He flipped the report over so Sara and Nottingham could see the map clearly.

"Yes…Why didn't we see this before, Danny?  We have to interview coworkers who knew the victims again.  What do they have in common besides work area?  Did they go to the same lunch spot?  Did they use the same dry cleaning service?  Things like that."  Sara speculated.

The two detectives studied the VICAP database report, which listed similarly reported crimes nationwide over the past decade.  Striking similarities existed between their cases and killings occurring across the country during this time period.  It would take a great deal of time to investigate it, but there appeared to be a probability that their killer had been nomadic over the years and may have been responsible for over twenty other deaths in at least six other states.

Nottingham had been watching the interaction between the partners but had grown quiet and introspective suddenly.  Sipping on his coffee, his mind slipped away to a place he had grown accustomed.  It took a while for Sara to notice this.

"What, Ian?  What are you thinking?" She asked.  She had to grab his knee to bring him back.  The familiar touch shocked him back into the moment.  Looking bewildered into her eyes for a moment, confused by her intimate contact with her partner in the room, he suddenly realized she had asked him a question.  To his embarrassment, she had to ask the question again.  With downcast eyes, it took him a moment to regain his composure.

"Just a gut feeling…after seeing what Annie has shown me…He's killing his mother over and over…he will never be satisfied.  He hated her…disdains all women."

"What do you think he will do with the witness he thinks is here at St. Elizabeth's?"  Sara asked.

"He would have no respect for the police…or their ability to control him.  He will come…He will not be able to resist."

"How do you know this, Ian?"  Sara persisted.  Danny shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

"I understand him." He replied simply.

The Homicide Detectives were stunned to be reminded that they were sitting across from a trained assassin.  Danny's only recent tolerance of Nottingham had been tenuous at best.  This guiltless declaration from a suspected executioner brought a cold edge to their tentative alliance.  It brought back to the surface his anxiety for his partner Pez and her obvious involvement with Nottingham.  When Danny reminded himself that Nottingham was risking his life to help Annie, it seemed to smooth over his initial reaction to Ian's disclosure, but it would do nothing to alleviate his concern for Sara's heart.

Sara had been forced to accept many things since the Witchblade had chosen her as its wielder.  She understood the warrior in Nottingham and his acceptance of death as part of life.  This innocent affirmation by Ian would be a constant reminder of the differences between them.  Yet, he sat before her and her partner willing to risk everything to protect an innocent girl.  Without taking her eyes off Nottingham, Sara asked Danny for a favor.

"Could you please give us a moment, partner?"  Sara had locked eyes with Nottingham.  He returned her stare with the same intensity.

"Yeah…sure, Pez."  Danny knew this was personal between them.  As her partner and friend, he was licensed to worry about her, but in the end, he respected her judgement and her ability to make her own decisions.  It did not call for his intrusion.  He stepped outside, walking down the hall, willing to give them privacy.

"What did you mean by that?  'I understand him'."  Sara kept her voice down for Annie's sake.

"Just what I said, Sara.  I do understand him.  It is hard to explain but Annie's nightmares have given me a certain insight into his mind…his emotions.  I feel a connection to him."  He wanted Sara to understand the type of link he had with this heartless killer, but he was not sure he understood it himself.  He just accepted it.

Nottingham's tone then grew colder and dispassionate.  

"My understanding him may prove to be important if the opportunity presents itself."  Through clever wording, Nottingham had all but admitted he would kill this man if given the occasion.  

"We are bringing him to justice through the court system, Nottingham.  You are _not going to go vigilante on me.  If you are thinking that way, you can just leave right now."  Sara's eyes flashed with her anger, she pointed toward the door with conviction._

"Sara…I am here for Annie.  I will not leave her side.  I will be her shadow just as I am yours.  Besides…who is to say your brand of justice is better than mine?  Justice will be rendered either way."  

"You are saying this to an officer of the court.  I enforce the law in all cases."  Stopping abruptly, Sara knew this strategy would not work with Nottingham.  She had to try another way to reason with him.

"With the coming of the Periculum, when the Witchblade and I became one, I vowed to seek justice.  If you wish to serve me as the wielder of the blade, do not put yourself between that killer and me.  Promise me you will let me do my job…and keep my oath to the blade.  Promise me, Ian."  She reached for his right hand, demanding his vow with her eyes.

"If you promise me…I will believe you.  I do trust you, Nottingham.  Promise me."

An interminable silence passed between them.

"I promise I will not come between you and the killer of Annie's mother."  

With cleverly crafted words, Nottingham made his promise to Sara.  He had learned such shrewdness from his years with Kenneth Irons_.  You had better hope to get to him before I do, Lady Sara.  For if he and I face each other alone, it will be my brand of justice he will encounter, Ian thought to himself._

*****

Kenneth Irons sat behind his desk peering out one of the large windows to his right. The office décor was very austere, modern and cold.  The security monitors for the Vorschlag building and his own cable network station VCN were muted and played mindlessly on the flat-screened monitors placed strategically around the room. The high tech lighting was indirect and made the room appear dark.  

Seated, he could only see the dismally, dark gray sky, an appropriate color given his disposition.  He had sat alone in this office many times before, but knowing young Nottingham had left the estate perhaps never to return, left an unexpected emptiness in him.  Ian was his advocate in all things, regardless of how insipid.  There was no pretence of civility, no attentiveness to being politically correct.  Irons' relationship with Nottingham was as close to companionship as he would enjoy in his lifetime.  Irons mindlessly hit one of his speed dials.

"Captain Dante."  The call was answered on the second ring.

"Oh, Captain…My Captain."  Dante recognized the voice of Kenneth Irons.

"Yes, Mr. Irons.  What can I do for you this morning?"  Irons was a necessary evil.  Dante did not have to like him.

"Tell me…What is fair Sara up to these days?"  Irons thought himself clever not to ask about Nottingham directly.

"Besides being a constant pain in my ass?"  The Police Captain replied.  Dante was such a crude man, Irons thought.

"I presume we can infer that…from your perspective.  Tell me more."  Irons was finding it increasingly more difficult to conceal his irritation and contempt for this idiot.

"She's been at St. Elizabeth's hospital, protecting a young girl who witnessed her mother's murder.  The kid's catatonic.  Why?"  Dante was sensing Irons had other motives.

"Is she defending this poor child by herself?"  Ah, here it comes, Dante thought.

"No, she has her partner with her."  Dante deliberately omitted the name of the third participant, making Irons jump through his hoop for a change.

"Any one else, Bruno?"  Irons was getting perturbed with this game of Dante's.

"Why, yes…I believe your boy is there…that freak, Nottingham.  Do you want me to send him home to you?"  The sarcasm in Dante's voice was unmistakable.

Dante was enjoying this, the fool.  Irons knew that Nottingham would have loved nothing better than to eradicate the Captain from existence.  Dante did not know how dangerous Irons' lethal weapon could be, but he may one day find out first hand.

"No, Captain Dante, but I would appreciate it if you would keep me personally informed of his activities.  Would that be too much to ask of you?  I didn't think so."  Irons did not wait for his response, demonstrating who was in charge.

Dante hung up the phone, cursing Petzini.  Now she had Irons and his mutant muscle involved in this case.  Things were coming to a head…and she was going to take the fall.


	7. Hunted

**Chapter Seven – Hunted**

After leaving Nottingham with Annie, Danny and Sara spent most of the day interviewing acquaintances of the victims.  They focused on coworkers and their employers.  The work was tedious and time consuming, but necessary.  By mid afternoon, they had arrived at Strathford Temporaries where Sandra Kensington had worked as clerical staff.  Her friend and coworker, Kelly Ridley, was the last interview of the day.  She was a petite woman in her 30s with short, blond hair and dark eyes.  Desperately trying to help, Kelly answered every question and even offered more information in an effort to assist them in their investigation.  So far, they were coming up empty.

"We better get back to the hospital, Danny…check on Annie.  My knight in shining armor will be getting hungry soon."  Sara pushed back her chair, standing ready to leave by Kelly's desk.

"What's going to happen to Annie?"  Sandra's concerned friend asked, tears welling up in her eyes.

"Social Services thinks they may have found an uncle in Oregon.  We'll know more later today or tomorrow."  Danny offered as he stood next to Sara.

"I remember Sandy talking about him.  They seemed to get along fine, but he left home and never looked back."  Kelly nodded hopefully.  She caught a tear that rolled down her cheek with a tissue she had been holding in her hand, then continued.

"Oh…before I forget.  Someone needs to pick up Annie's car at Callahan's Garage.  They called today.  Guess whatever work she was having done on it is completed."

Danny and Sara looked at each other in bewilderment before Sara asked, "Is that near here?"

After getting the garage address and location from Kelly, Sara and Danny walked quickly to their unmarked police car parked on the street.  Danny had brought some case files with him to review as Sara drove.  They sat in the car; their minds were working overtime trying to recall details of the other murders.

"That garage name…I think I remember it from one of the other killings…the Hogan case.  Something about a work order or receipt for work done found in her car?"  Sara watched as her partner read over the files setting between them in the front seat.

"Here it is…Carla Hogan and Annette Demaret forensic reports…BINGO!  Both victims had maintenance records indicating work was performed at Callahan's Garage.  We'll need to verify the dates of the work, but this looks promising, partner."  Danny grinned.  It was the first time in weeks she had seen that smile.

"Why didn't we find out about the Kensington car until now?"  Sara asked.

"I remember the initial report…The neighbor said she thought she rode the bus.  Maybe no one ever checked it out."  He shook his head.

"I finally feel we got something here, Danny.  We got enough time to hit the garage before it closes."  Sara turned the key in the ignition as Danny read her the directions to their next stop.

When they got to their destination, they implemented the strategy they had concocted on their way over.  Danny worked with the manager on duty to obtain copies of work orders along with employee names and addresses.  Sara walked the premises looking for anything or anyone suspicious.  The garage had six bays with more than a dozen employees working today.  The amount of activity at Callahan's indicated a successful place of business but could also disguise any unlawful conduct.  Danny found her as she concluded her sweep.

"I got copies of all the work orders for our three victims.  The last work performed for all three were done by the same mechanic."  He smiled, making her wait for the clincher she knew he had.  Her partner had teased like this ever since they had been together, making her pull information from him when he had something incredibly noteworthy.

"And does this mechanic have a scar on his left cheek, Danny?"  She guessed.

"Direct hit…you sunk my battleship, partner.  It seems Randy Wyatt has a rather pronounced scar on his left cheek."  Danny's version of the game Battleship probably had been honed from his experiences with fatherhood.

"I didn't see anyone with a facial scar in the garage, Danny."  Sara was ready for another direct hit.

"Hit me again, partner…You are taking out my entire fleet.  Your keen eye did not discern a facial scar because Randy called in sick today.  I think we should pay him a house call…show him a little of our bedside manner."

The address given by the employer for Wyatt was a motel a few blocks away.  As they pulled into the Liberty Inn, they noticed few cars parked in the lot.  A front desk clerk named Murphy looked up as they entered.

"We rent by the hour or by the day.  Payment up front.  What do you need?"  The sweaty little man stopped leering at Sara when she showed him her badge.

"We're looking for Randy Wyatt…works at Callahan's Garage up the road.  What room is he in?"  Sara asked.  Murphy knew off the top of his head since not many people rented by the week in this dump.

"Room 26…out this door and to your right…last door." 

"Any back way out?"  Danny asked.  Murphy shook his head in reply.

"Give me the direct phone number for that room."  Sara demanded.  As the clerk read off the number, Danny keyed it into his cell phone, understanding Sara's request intuitively.

Danny coerced the cooperation of Murphy to give them admittance to the room via his passkey.  With the desk clerk in tow, they were both outside the door with guns drawn and at their sides as they approached room 26.  Murphy was sweating by now, not wanting to be a part of this.  He quietly slipped the key into the door, leaving it to give the detectives access, then scurried back to his desk.  Danny hit the send button on his cell as they positioned themselves outside the door, each on opposite sides.  They listened as the phone in the room rang and rang.  No answer.

Sara nodded to her partner, who turned the key and pushed in the door with his shoulder as she rushed in behind him, their guns aimed purposefully across the room.  The place looked unoccupied.  Danny cautiously pushed back the closet door.  It was empty as well.  He watched as Sara examined the small bathroom to the rear.  

Nothing.  Gone…he was gone.  

The detectives both pulled on latex gloves they kept in their pockets for just such an occasion, not wanting to contaminate a crime scene.  Danny sifted through the waste cans for clues but there was nothing to be found.

"We need to get a team out here…dust for prints."  Sara called it in using her cell phone.

"Look…I'll stay…wait for the team.  As soon as they get here, I'll head to the Precinct…do a little research on our guy.  You need to get back to Annie."  What Danny said made sense.

"Thanks, partner.  Call me at the hospital if anything turns up."  Sara smiled weakly, trying to hide her frustration at being just a step behind this guy.  It had been a good day.  They had been the closest they had ever been to this killer…and they now had a name.  She knew her partner had been feeling the same.  She could see it in his eyes and in the way he set his jaw.  She also knew neither of them was willing to give up.  

She could sense they were close now.  If there was blood in the proverbial shark infested waters; she was bound and determined to make sure it was Randy Wyatt's blood.

*****

Randy Wyatt knew how to blend in, buying a bouquet of flowers, acting like a visitor at St. Elizabeth's hospital.  With carefully applied makeup and a day's growth of beard, the scar on his cheek was not clearly visible.  He was also careful to avoid talking to anyone.  Every time someone looked like they were going to ask if he needed any help in finding a patient's room, he walked authoritatively as if he knew exactly where he was bound.  All the while he kept his eyes and ears open for any information on the mystery witness.  The news coverage talked about a new cardiac wing of the hospital.  It took him a while to find this new wing.  

It was isolated from the rest of the hospital wards, which seemed to be a good thing.  He could see down the far hallway as he rounded the corner.  A lone policeman was on duty outside one of the rooms.  Coming toward him down his targeted hallway were two men, one with a familiar face.  He tried to place the face, searching his memory.  The hair on the back of his neck raised, which was usually a sure sign of danger.  Something wasn't right about this.  He ducked into a nearby restroom to think things through, seeking anonymity by using a stall rather than a urinal.  Voices in the hall were coming closer.  The restroom door opened.

"Seems that damned Petzini's got Irons and that freak Nottingham involved in our business.  Got a call from moneybags this morning.  Seems he wants me to keep him apprised of Nottingham's whereabouts…for reason unknown…as if I don't have enough responsibility with this Lonely Hearts Killer trap we got going on here at the hospital.  Where is that bitch, Orlinsky?"

Hidden away in the stall, he listened intently as the two men talked, using the urinals.

"She's on the third floor in the Children's Ward…to the right as you get off the elevator…near the nurses' station."

"Is Iron's freak of nature with her?"

"As far as I know.  What do you want me to do?"

"Just keep an eye on Iron's boyfriend…or he'll make my life miserable."

Their voices were muffled as they flushed, then washed their hands, but he could hear well enough.  Looking through a crack in the stall door and into the mirror near the sinks, he could clearly see the faces of the two men.  He now recognized one as Captain Dante from the press coverage on TV.  His luck was holding.

"You need me to report on the kid?"

"No.  Some witness we got, huh?  Kid's catatonic and she wanted police protection.  Can you imagine that?  I would have to be a pretty poor Captain if I let that bitch waste tax payer dollars on protecting that so-called witness of hers."

"This idea you had on laying this trap for that lunatic killer is the only way to go, Captain.  He won't have a chance…the stupid bastard."

Captain Dante and his flunky Orlinsky left the room but not before giving the 'stupid bastard' in the stall an idea.

*****

Stopping at her favorite Thai Food restaurant for a couple of orders of spicy noodles and spring rolls, Sara was famished by the time she stepped off the third floor elevator and headed for Annie's room.  Sitting in his customary chair near Annie's bedside, Nottingham looked a little stronger than he had the night before, the color in his cheeks returning.  

"Hey Nottingham…How are you feeling?"

"Better…much better.  Annie has been quiet all day…seems to be resting."

She handed him a carton of Pad Thai Noodles and a couple of spring rolls as she took a seat on the cot using a nearby chair for a makeshift table.  He opted to use one of the sets of chopsticks over the plastic forks she offered.  She had never quite gotten the hang of eating with wood sticks and chose the plastic ware for herself.  Sara wondered if he would give her lessons sometime, but thought Danny might be personally offended if she had not gone to the master, namely him.  Nottingham was painfully quiet and introspective, seemingly content to be in total silence.  Then, he broke the tranquility.

"Did you and your partner have any success today, Detective?"  His formalness took her by surprise.  She thought they had grown closer over the last couple of days.

"What's up Nottingham?  Why so formal?  You usually call me Sara.  What gives?"  They both continued to scarf up the spicy noodles.

"This familiarity we have shared…It has pleased me…but it must not continue if I am to serve you, My Lady."  He bowed his head, keeping his eyes downcast.

"What if I desire this familiarity to continue?  What if I insist upon it?"  She waved her spring roll around as if it were her royal scepter.

He looked up, met her eyes for an instant with confusion written in his.  He had not counted on the wielder reacting this way.  He did not know how to proceed.

"Irons would not approve of it."  He shook his head as he bit into his spring roll.

"You have said that you would do anything to please me…and that you only wish to serve me.  Is that not right?"  Sara had to be clever here.  He slowly nodded, wondering where she was headed.

"Yes…Lady…Sara."  He was obviously confused.  He stuck his chopsticks into his noodles waiting for her to finish her thought.

"Then, how can you serve both Irons and myself in this case…when we want entirely different things?"  Take that bit of logic, Nottingham, she thought.  It took him a while to respond, and when he did, it was with dispirited eyes.

"That is a good question.  I have been reluctant to admit this even to myself."

The saddened look in his eyes bothered her for she did not want to be the cause of his quandary.  He had experienced enough pain this week, both physically and emotionally.

Ian knew Sara's logic was sound.  It pained him to not have a better answer.  He wanted to serve her exclusively but he knew his service to Irons would have to continue if he was to protect the wielder, his beloved Sara.

"Look…I suspect you stay with Irons perhaps out of loyalty…but maybe more in an effort to protect me.  Irons can be a nasty, mean bastard.  No one knows that better than you."  Her candor took him by surprise.  He should have expected it by now.

"I don't want you to put yourself on the line with him because of me.  I can't watch you do that, Ian.  Next time, he may kill you.  I couldn't live with that…that I might have been the cause.  Don't put me in that position."  She continued.

"You do not know what he is like, Sara…you just…it is not that easy.  Just as you do not want to be put in that position…how do you think it would make me feel to see him harm you in any way…and know I could have done something to prevent it."

They stared into one another's eyes, knowing each was right.  In that instant, they also knew that they both cared enough to jeopardize their lives for one another.  Nottingham was the first to pull away.  He stood slowly, stretching his back, then walked slowly to the doorway.  With a deep sigh, he leaned against the door jam, hands in his pockets, facing into the hallway toward the nurses' station.

Sara stood slowly herself and walked up behind him, placing her left thumb through his far left belt loop, then stroking his right forearm with her other hand.  He looked down at her with his beautiful dark eyes, surprised at her forwardness, but appreciating the familiarity.  Such intimacy was foreign to Nottingham.  He was not only unacquainted with affection and the liberties taken between lovers, but he was not sure how to express what he knew was in his heart.  Would Lady Sara accept him as a man?  Reticently, Ian placed his right arm gently around her shoulder.  With his left hand, he hesitantly touched her right cheek with such tenderness, as if it were a rare piece of porcelain.  His boldness surprised him yet she did not resist.  Is this what it was like to have a lover?  He had never dreamed such normalcy would ever be his.  He had given up hope long ago.

His tender exploration warmed Sara's heart for she had longed for this intimacy.  The feel of his body this close to hers felt so good.  Her senses knew him even before they had ever been this close to one another.  The smell of his skin and hair, the way his heart beat in unison with hers, the gentle touch of his fingers on her face, these were all sensations she had felt time and time again.  They were too familiar to be dismissed as wild imaginings.

"I think we've just shared something that we may need to explore…something between you and I…No Witchblade…No Irons…just us."  Sara ventured.

"I am not sure…I would not know how…" Ian was afraid his innocence might be construed as a weakness by Sara.  He had accepted that she had been with other men, yet he felt he might suffer by comparison due to his inexperience.

"As I said before…lean on me…let me do all the work.  _You might just be worth the effort."  She teased, rewarded with one of his infrequent yet brilliant smiles.  God, how she loved his smile._

*****

Wyatt appreciated the NYPD Captain and his flunky giving him specific instructions on how to locate their catatonic witness, Kensington's kid.  The third floor of the children's ward was busy.  One more guy with a handful of flowers would not stand out.  As he got off the elevator, he knew the kid's room was to the right so he headed left to scope things out.  Looking down the hall, he saw a tall, dark man with his arm around a woman as they stood in the doorway to a hospital room.  

The woman caught his eye.  She was taller than he normally liked but had long, straight dark hair.  From this distance, he could not discern her eye color from here but she was definitely his type.  His heart rate escalated, his palms began to sweat, as it always did when he targeted new prey. Like all women, she was flaunting her good looks…out in public view…in front of everyone…probably trying to get that poor bastard to do something for her.  He slipped down the hall for a better view.  If this was the woman Captain Dante had been talking about, who was protecting Kensington's catatonic kid on the third floor near the nurses' station, then he had located their witness.  

His luck was still holding.

*****

Nottingham's body tensed, his head jerked to the right, as if he had heard something peculiar.  He pulled his arm off Sara's shoulder quickly, pulling into the room in front of Annie's bed.  Sara was confused by this sudden change in Ian's demeanor.  Did she push him too fast?  Was he having second thoughts about her?

"What's the matter, Ian?"  Sara heart started to race as she noticed Annie had become agitated in her sleep.

"He is here, Sara.  I feel him…He is here…now."  Nottingham looked down the corridors around the room, no one stood out.  _Do not leave Annie's side, he thought__.  Protect Annie._

Ian looked back into the room, focusing on the child he was sworn to protect.  She would soon start screaming.  She knew…could feel him, too.  There was not much time.  Nottingham had to make a quick and agonizing decision.  As much as he was drawn to fight by Sara's side, having trained his whole life to do so, he had no choice but to protect the defenseless youngster.  He took his place near her bedside.

"Annie is going to be needing me…very soon.  I may need you to help me connect with her.  It will be dangerous."  Nottingham leaned over the small girl as she started to wrestle with her IV and wildly flail at the nightstand and bed rails again.  He held her down as gently as he could, not wanting to inadvertently hurt the small, frail child.  He continued.

"He is on this floor…somewhere.  I am certain she and I will be able to feel him as he gets closer.  I will release you to pursue him, Sara.  Just keep him away from Annie."  Ian sat near her bed, starting to center his focus on Annie.  He trusted Sara so he could devote all his attentions to the small girl for she needed him most.

Sara's anxiety was growing rapidly.  She kept looking over her shoulder into the hallway, desperately trying to avoid getting attacked while they were in Annie's world.  Nottingham was having trouble connecting with the child.  His breathing was erratic.  Through his pain and fear for Annie and Sara, his ability to focus was being tested.  Growing feverish with this attempt, he shuddered trying to get over the brink into the dark chasm of Annie's mind.  He reached back, desperately groping for Sara's hand.  He would need her to make the link.  Sara reached for his hand…and was instantaneously sucked into the swirling darkness.  Ablaze with fear, her stomach turned upside down as if she were being hurled down the steep tracks of a runaway roller coaster.

_"He's here…I can feel him…The Monster!"  Annie screamed._

_"Yes…He is here, little one.  That is why I came…to take you to safety.  Lady Sara and I are here to defend you.  No one will harm you, child."_

_"I can feel Lady Sara nearby…"_

_"She is by my side…The Lady has a powerful weapon.  She will be leaving soon to slay the monster.  Are you ready to come with me, my brave girl?"_

_"Just hold me…and I will come, Sir Ian.  Hold me."  Ian scooped the small girl into his arms, holding her tightly._

_Although Ian was now speaking directly to Sara, he recognized the importance of maintaining a self-assured façade for Annie sake._

_"Our plan has worked, Lady Sara.  The monster is within our reach…in our trap.  Go now.  Do what must be done."  Before separating himself from Sara, he continued.  "I made you a promise, but know this…if you fail…it shall be my turn."  He released Sara's hand while he continued to stay with Annie._

*****

Randy Wyatt had slipped cautiously down the hallway, turning into rooms, acting like he had made a mistake if someone paid too much attention to him.  As he drew closer, he was able to get a better look at her.  All of his attention was focused on that room with the deceiver in it…the one with the long, dark hair and light eyes.  Surprisingly, she closely resembled her…but then they all did to him.  The tall, dark man with her seemed to be in a meditative state, similar to the kid's condition.  He didn't look well at all.  The woman's back was to him so he could not see if she was in a similar state.  Only the space of two doorways separated him from his quarry.  This may prove to be easier than he had originally thought.  All three now appeared to be in the same hypnotic condition.  Placing his hand in his coat pocket, he griped the handle of the knife he had brought this time.  

Only five steps away, he began to fantasize how he would shut the door to the room slowly behind him.  He would creep up behind the tall, dark haired man for he would be the greatest threat.  Grabbing his hair, he would then slit his throat as he sat dazed by the kid's bed.  As the man gurgled his final breath and the last of his blood spewed forth onto the bed linens, he would make the 'little witness' watch as he would take his time with her…the liar…the cheater.  He inched his way closer to the room, in a stupor of his own.

"Hey, Pez…Did I miss something?"  Danny had rounded the corner and entered the room, only to find Nottingham and Sara with Annie, oblivious to his entrance.  He had seen Nottingham do this before, but Sara?  

_Who the hell is that?  Wyatt rolled to his right and ducked into the nearest room, flowers in hand.  He narrowly missed bumping into the Asian man who had walked into the room ahead of him.  He chastised himself for almost getting caught.  His anger boiled underneath his skin as he threw the flowers across the room.  He was met with the stares of two young boys as they lay in their hospital beds watching television._

"Women…You can't live with them…and you can't cut 'em up and put 'em in your freezer."  He smirked, trying to make it appear a joke.  The boys seemed to appreciate his brand of humor.  He waited for the right moment to make his exit toward the elevators.  There was always tomorrow.  The green-eyed woman's image would not let him forget.  He had no doubt he would face her again.

When Nottingham had released her hand, Sara was abruptly pulled back into reality, gripping Annie's bed to maintain her balance.  It took her mind a moment to clear before she realized Nottingham had told her the killer was here…now.  Grabbing Danny's arm, pulling him into the hall with her, she quickly tried to bring him up to speed.

"He's here, Danny.  Randy Wyatt is here…now."  

"How do you know, Sara?  Have you seen him?  What does he look like?"  Danny was totally confused by all of this.  Trusting his partner, he unsnapped his holster.  "What's going on with you and Nottingham…in some kind of trance?"

"You're just going to have to trust me, partner.  I'll explain things when there's time.  I just know he's here."  She stated authoritatively, giving her partner no room for debate.

Following Danny's lead, she unsnapped the holster to free her gun but would not draw it in this public place unless she had no choice.  Darting further into the corridor, Sara looked down the hallway to her right, then straight ahead towards the elevators.  A tall, dark haired man was walking casually toward the elevators.  The Witchblade began to radiate heat and swirl a red, angry hue.  Hoping her faithful partner could not see the change in her bracelet, Sara silently nodded her head in the man's direction, giving Danny a quick hand signal to follow her.

The detectives walked steadily toward their man.  He had punched the button for the elevator; the down arrow flashed with a muted ring to indicate the elevator had arrived.  As the doors slowly opened, Sara and Danny were just two steps behind him.  They stepped onto the elevator, dismayed to find it fully occupied by an elderly couple, a mother with her small boy, and a young Hispanic orderly.  Danny was closest to their suspect and did not notice what floor he had pressed.  Sara pushed into the back of the elevator with Danny just behind her.

Wyatt caught a brief glimpse of her, now with this Asian guy.  This bitch was worse than his mother, the whore.  She's got her hands all over the guy in the hospital room, then she's getting it on with Jackie Chan.  He was beginning to loose it.  He had to think…_think clearly, he repeated to himself.  His anger would give him away.  __Stay in control, he thought.  They were behind him in the elevator.  They could not have known who he was.  Could They?  Turning his head to the left, he tried to keep a low profile, not drawing attention to himself.  Even if they suspected him, the elevator was full.  He knew they would not risk trying to take him here.  He was safe for now.  Still, she was close enough for him to smell her fear.  He wanted her.  _

His eyes glanced down to the control panel.  Someone had pressed the first floor of the garage.  If they were following him, he would be safe at least until he could draw them into the garage.  Suppressing a smile, he knew he would get his chance with her, after he got rid of Mr. Kung Pao.

*****

_"Hold me, Sir Ian.  Take me with you.  I don't want to be in the closet anymore."  _

_Nottingham clutched the small child to his chest, absorbing her fear, cradling her in his strong arms.  He tried to keep his mind off Sara.  Even with the power of the Witchblade, he still wanted to be with her, to protect her._

_"Open your eyes, little one.  I will be there when you awaken…to protect you.  Now, my Annie…Now."_

Nottingham waited to feel Annie gasp for air as they parted before he did the same.  They both shook uncontrollably, holding onto one another until the quaking abated.  After she calmed a bit, Ian laid the small child gently onto the pillow, brushing back her hair and looking into her eyes for the first time.  He was weak and felt nauseous, but he had prayed for her recovery…and now he looked into her gorgeous blue eyes.  Smiling, he was the first to speak.

"Pleased to meet you, My Lady.  You can call me Sir Ian…and I am at your service with every beat of my heart."

The sweet smile on Annie's face warmed his heart.  Searching his memory, in that briefest of moments, he could not ever remember anyone being that happy to see him.  He was an instrument of destruction, a purveyor of Irons' form of justice.  Never had he brought such joy as he witnessed in this child's precious face.  It was a reminder of the road he had chosen for himself.  Setting aside the personal pain of his road less traveled; his only wish was that Sara could have been here to witness such beauty in this single manifestation.

Nottingham wanted to relish the moment a bit longer but the killer's presence could still be felt, though it was faint.  Hoping that Annie was not as aware of this, he tried to distract her.

"Lady Sara has commanded me to take you to a very safe place.  She will be joining us later.  Are you ready, little one?"  Annie nodded trustingly.  

Closing the room door, Ian removed the IV from the little girl's arm and brought her clothes so she could change.  She was weak, so he had to help her button her blouse and tie her shoelaces.  

"Are you hungry, My Lady?  Maybe some soup?"  He asked.

"Maybe some soup, Sir Ian…only if you will eat with me."  This remark brought a smile to Nottingham's face.

"Then soup it shall be…for My Lady."

He left a rather cryptic note for Sara…meant only for her eyes and understanding.

_Roses are Red._

_Violets are Blue._

_I have taken the angel_

_for a much better view._

_From high a loft with a_

_Fire escape built for two,_

_we shall eagerly await_

_Chicken Noodle & you._

_Forever in your service,_

_The Poet Warrior_

With a smile, he laid the note on the nightstand in Annie's room.  Wrapping Annie in a blanket, he hoisted her into his arms, grabbing the bag Sara had left in the room.  Having her arms around his neck made his heart swell with affection, making him long for things he now had no hopes of attaining.  The child entwined her small fingers in his hair, forcing him to grieve for what might have been.  How could he have known, as a child the same age as Annie, that his choice to follow Irons would have such a sweeping consequence?  With a sigh, he opened the door, then waited a few minutes for the hallway to clear before making his escape to a nearby stairwell.

As he was hailing the taxicab on the street, with Annie wrapped warmly in her blanket; his thoughts turned to Sara.  Her beautiful, green eyes haunted him.  He only hoped he would see them again for he could not bear to think otherwise.


	8. Justice Delivered

**Chapter Eight – Justice Delivered**

Bruno Dante had just returned from St. Elizabeth's hospital, still irritated at Petzini for having pulled him into this cat and mouse game with Irons and his mongrel creation, Nottingham.  Straightening his desk, clearing off paperwork, he was annoyed to hear a knock on his door.

"What is it?"  He gruffly replied.

The door opened slowly, making him curious who would be entering this way.  His men would have brusquely walked in by now.

"Captain Dante?"  A woman's timid voice preceded her entrance.  A plump, elderly woman holding a colorful bouquet of flowers in a vase smiled brightly as he acknowledged who he was with a nod.

"Someone who is most appreciative of the way you do your job has sent these flowers to you.  He wanted me to give them to you personally…saying exactly that."  She replied.

"Oh…Well…Thank you very much."  Dante found it against his nature to be humble.

"Oh…there's a card, too.  He was just very specific about everything."  The woman remained a while longer, for this was also the request of the young man.

Dante found the card that had been sealed and opened it.

_Who's the stupid bastard now, Captain?_

_Thanks to your lack of bladder control,_

_I am free to continue my spree._

_Catch me if you can, asshole!_

_The Lonely Hearts Killer_

_P.S.  Give my regards to Dumlinsky!_

Dante's face grew red with his rage.  He crumpled the card in his hand even though it was considered evidence.  This bastard was not ever going to make it to trial.

"Who placed the order?  What did he look like?  What was the method of payment?"  The questions were spewing from Dante.  He knew a lead would not be likely.

"Oh, he told me you would react like this.  Asked me to stay for a while…not just leave after the delivery.  He was a nice young man…rather tall with short, dark hair…had a bit of a beard…very courteous.  He paid by cash."  Her smile was really getting to him.

"Anything else?"  He asked, gritting his teeth, biting back his rage.

"Yes…He told me to tell you similar deliveries were being made to the Mayor's office as we speak…and to the New York Times, the Daily News, and the Village Voice newspapers…on your behalf."

"DAMMIT!  He's gonna pay for this!"  Dante grabbed the vase of flowers with both hands, throwing it to the floor.  Shattered glass and water burst across his office floor.  The elderly woman scrambled from his office in tears.

"ORLINSKY!  Get your ass in here."  Dante screamed as he crushed the flowers under his feet, trying to destroy every shred of his nightmare that had only just begun.

*****

The hospital elevator movement was interminably slow, lurching in spots before they reached the first floor where the elderly couple and the Hispanic orderly disembarked.  Danny and Sara both tensed, ready to make a quick move if their target darted out the elevator at the last minute.  Doubts started to enter Sara's head.  Had they followed the right person?  So far, this man had done nothing to indicate he was their guy.  If this was not Randy Wyatt, then she just may have condemned Annie and Ian to death, leaving them vulnerable to attack from the real killer.  Her face strained with her guilt.  Danny's focus had been trained on their objective.  He now sensed her fear and was perplexed by it.  In silence, he pleaded with his eyes for her to explain her dilemma, knowing full well that she could not.   The elevator sounded their final stop.

The mother and her six-year old boy walked off the elevator toward the garage doors to the right.  The tall, dark haired man followed in close pursuit, as if he were with them.  He held the door as they entered the garage in search of their car.  The detectives followed in stealth mode, prepared to react to any sudden moves.  They needed the man to move further away from the woman and the child.  Fearing the worst scenario, Danny tried to position himself closer to the woman, so he could pull her to safety.  Just as he was within two feet of her, the man shoved the alarmed woman into Danny, knocking them both to the ground.  Sara made a dash towards the child, scooping up the small boy and ducking behind a nearby car.  No more doubt, they had been in pursuit of Randy Wyatt and he was making his getaway.

Danny helped the scared young mother to her feet, while Sara reunited her with her child.

"Get back on the elevator and return to the hospital.  You'll be safe there.  Please call 9-1-1.  Tell the dispatcher what just happened…and two detectives are in pursuit of a suspect.  Can you do this?"  Danny asked calmly as he showed his badge.  He released the woman after she had calmed down and nodded her understanding.  Remarkably, the small boy did not so much as whimper.  After they left, Sara and Danny drew their guns from their holsters, following in pursuit.

"He went up this aisle, Danny."  Sara whispered.  

From here on out, hand signals would be their form of communication.  Sara took the far right row of cars and Danny took the left, walking cautiously up the long ramp.  The lighting was dim, making it hard to see in the shadows where someone could easily hide.  The detectives hoped they could find and arrest their suspect before anyone tried to depart the garage.  Wyatt would not let such an opportunity to escape be overlooked.  

One by one, they searched the shadows between each car.  The search was painstaking and tedious, their anxiety growing steadily, as their pursuit remained unproductive.  Had he found another way out of the garage?  Would they remain a step behind?  Being a step behind meant someone else would die.  This was not acceptable.  They were coming to the top of the ramp where they would be forced to make a decision on which way to continue.  With a killer this deadly, they could not afford to separate.  Maybe the blade could help her make the right decision.  She only hoped she could trust it.

Just as Danny had passed the third to the last car on his side, a movement in the shadows caused him to turn.  As he did, Randy sucker punched him, snapping his head back.  His gun went flying into the darkness, skidding to a stop under a car near the top of the ramp.  Danny hit the concrete floor, but not before banging his head against the metal bumper of an SUV.  Shooting pain exploded in his head.  Bright lights blinded him before he collapsed to the ground unconscious and helpless.

Sara heard the commotion too late to help her partner.  As she turned to her left, she pointed her gun at Randy Wyatt who now straddled the prone body of Danny Woo.  Yanking his head back by his hair, Wyatt threatened to cut her partner's throat with the knife he held in his hand.

"Drop it…DROP IT NOW."  He was angry at the bitch.  Was she hard of hearing on top of everything else?

"Okay…I'm dropping my gun now…just stay calm."  Sara slowly crouched to drop the gun, shoving it under a nearby car.  At least now Wyatt would not have access to either of their weapons.  Sara looked to her partner, hoping he was still alive.  She had heard the terrible sound of his head striking the bumper.  Her more immediate concern was to get the knife from his throat.

"Try me, Randy.  Why don't you try a woman that can defend herself…or are you a coward?"  She taunted, hoping to distract him from Danny.

The bitch knew his name.  It wouldn't matter now.  She wasn't going to live long enough to tell anyone about him.  Look at her…so smug.  Just like her…just like mommy dearest.  She thought she knew him, too.  She was wrong.  

Sara desperately tried to recall Nottingham's words about Wyatt.  _Killing his mother over and over…never satisfied…hated her…disdains all women._

"Tell me about your mother, Randy.  What did she ever do to you?  Maybe you were just a whining, sniveling brat."  Sara could feel the blade burning on her wrist, just waiting for her to command it into action.  The colors projected swirling red hues into the dark corners of the garage.  Wyatt noticed this, began to laugh without humor, seething with anger.

"What the hell is that, bitch?  Your mood ring acting up?"  He now stood over Danny's body, taking a step toward her.

"Yeah…red is my 'kick ass' color.  Come see what I can do to you, little man."  She stepped back up the ramp to gain a more level playing field.  Wyatt mistakenly took this for a retreat on her part, feeling more confident than he should have.  He followed her up the ramp, keeping his dead eyes on her.  Sara continued her ridicule.

"Tell me what Mommy did to poor Randy.  Did she punish you, Wyatt?  Maybe you deserved it.  Maybe you couldn't handle a real woman."  With every jeer, Wyatt quickened his steps toward Sara.

"Just keep it up, bitch.  You're just like her.  I saw you coming on to those two guys…the one in the hospital room…and this poor bastard.  You're a liar…a user…just like the rest of them."  Wyatt was close enough.  He held the knife in his right hand, ready to slash her with her next remark.

"You call that a blade, Randy?"  With that, she willed the Witchblade to full armament.  The shield snaking its way up her arm, with the blade projecting its length high overhead, glistening in the amber light of its red swirling stone.

"Now this is a blade, my friend."  She was a bit sheepish to have borrowed the line from Crocodile Dundee but the look on Wyatt's face was worth it.

"Then again…Maybe size doesn't matter, Randy." _Yeah, right, she thought.  He was mad now.  She could see him being consumed by it._

Wyatt took a step back as the deceiver's weapon suddenly appeared on her arm.  He lost his cool for a moment, eyes widening as his jaw dropped.  What kind of demon was she?  No…this had to be another one of her lies…she was full of deceit.  It was an illusion…no more.  As he lunged toward her, attempting to grab her armament, the bitch closed the space between them, blocking his arm and jamming her elbow into his jaw.  His head rocked back and he saw stars for a moment, tasting his own blood as he spun to his right.

Sara didn't wait for him to clear his head.  She had to strike fast.  As he rolled to his right, she administered a jolting blow to his middle back with her right leg, sending him toppling down the incline past Danny.  Sara raced down the ramp in pursuit of Wyatt who was raising himself up to his knees, shaking his head to clear the cobwebs.  Sara held the blade high, ready to strike.

Feigning his injuries, Wyatt yanked Sara's legs out from under her as she neared.  He pinned her arms as he straddled her.  She could feel his acrid breath on her face as he spoke.

"Play time is over, whore.  Enough foreplay…Time for the climax."

As Wyatt shifted his weight to pin both her wrists with his left hand so he could plunge his knife into Sara's heart, she raised her right hip, using his own weight against him.  He tumbled to his right with Sara rolling on top, reversing their positions.  Before surprise could even register on his face, she pounded his jaw with three quick and vicious blows of the Witchblade.  The right side of his head was a bloody mess.  Wyatt's body collapsed into unconsciousness.  Sara rose to her feet shakily, the adrenaline still pumping through her system.  Trying to catch her breath, she rolled Wyatt to his stomach and pulled his arms one-by-one to secure the handcuffs behind his back.  It seemed Randy Wyatt's luck had just played out.

It was over.  It was finally over.

_Danny, she thought.  Rushing to her partner's side up the ramp, Sara knelt alongside him checking for a pulse.  It was faint but there.  His breathing was steady.  She felt along his skull for injury.  He would have quite a headache if the size of the lump on his head had anything to do with that.  As Sara was cradling Danny's head in her hands, she could hear some commotion at the base of the ramp near the elevator.  Two NYPD police officers had their weapons drawn and were cautiously making their way up the ramp.  Sara slowly flashed her credentials that were attached to her hip._

"Detective Sara Pezzini…Eleventh Precinct.  My partner, Detective Danny Woo, could use some medical attention."  One of the officers raced up the garage ramp to assist Sara with her partner while the other stayed near the base, his gun trained on the suspect.

"Who's the guy down there?"  The young officer asked Sara.

"Randy Wyatt…The Lonely Hearts Killer.  Make sure you read him his rights."

The rest of the evening became a blur to Sara.  She knew the officers had called for a gurney for Danny.  He had been admitted into the hospital for overnight observation after going through a battery of tests and procedures.  The two officers had also helped her retrieve their discarded weapons.  Before departing in the squad car to book a very angry Randy Wyatt in at the Eleventh Precinct, she had stopped at Annie's room only to find it empty.  

Her personal bag of clothing had been removed also.  She found the note Nottingham had left on the nightstand.  A smile spread across her face as she read Ian's attempt at humor and poetry.  She had recalled when Irons himself had called Ian his Poet Warrior saying that _his mind had been developed with the same enthusiasm as his most extraordinary body…and that he is quite intelligent and well read.  She was sure Irons would have insisted on poetry a little more challenging than '__Roses are red, Violets are blue…' so the thought of him composing this children's poem with chicken noodle in it made her laugh aloud.  Slipping the note in her pocket, she proceeded downstairs to meet the officers who had Randy Wyatt in their squad car.  She had a few more hours in her day to complete the booking report and process the suspect.  She rode shotgun in the squad car with an enraged serial killer talking trash in the back.  Her thoughts strayed to the smiling face of her long time partner, a nice warm bowl of chicken noodle soup, the sleeping visage of an angel, and the strength of her knight in shining armor.  _

In the strange and bizarre world of Sara Pezzini, Wielder of the Witchblade, days don't get much better than this.


	9. Severed Bonds

**Chapter Nine – Severed Bonds**

In the early hours of the morning, Sara quietly let herself into her apartment, knowing she would not be alone.  She could smell remnants of what she presumed was chicken noodle soup in the air.  A small lamp burning across the room left enough light for her to see that her bed was occupied.  Annie was fast asleep, lying on her side, facing center, her small thin arms around her savior, Sir Ian.  Nottingham held the child in his arms, making her appear smaller than she already was, in a sound sleep of his own.  Annie's head was cradled in his right arm.  Facing her, he probably still could not sleep comfortably on his back.

After securing her weapon, Sara sat in an old wooden rocker that had been one of her father's favorites.  She pulled up a quilted family comforter to keep her warm.  Gently pushing the chair into motion, she watched them sleep, listened to their breathing in unison.  The faint sound of a wall clock judiciously measured time, blending with the beating of their hearts.  

Sara felt a bond with Annie and Ian, having shared the communion of their souls with their telepathic experience.  It was an encounter born of undeniable intimacy and supreme trust, much stronger than most biological family attachments.  Watching Nottingham and the child sleep, she was reminded that most of her childhood friends were married and having children of their own.  She had never been drawn to such a sedentary life, yet she longed for something more than what she had.  At moments like this one, she yearned for the intimacy of a relationship and could only wonder what it might be like to have a child.

It was one of the most serene moments of Sara's life since the death of her father.  Wrapped in her cherished quilt and rocking in her father's favorite chair, she had not felt this way in a very long while.  With that thought, she felt a kindred spirit to the small child in Ian's arms.  Her life had been changed forever with the death of her mother.  An uncle she had not met before would be picking her up today, to take her back with him to Oregon.  Social Services had left a message for her and Danny.  The uncle had planned to fly back with the unconscious child, shipping the coffin containing the body of her mother in the cargo hold of the plane.  He was going to be very pleased to see Annie's smiling face, one small miracle in this senseless act of evil.  With a great deal of luck and hard work, Annie could put her life back together, as she herself had done.  Yet, it would never be the same again.  Her innocence had been taken, violently ripped from her against her will.  A solitary tear rolled down Sara's cheek.

Falling asleep, Sara rocked away her grief as she watched over the pint-sized angel and her gallant knight, committing the moment to memory in her heart.

*****

Nottingham had not slept this soundly in a long time.  He was warm and comfortable as he lay in bed, not wanting to open his eyes.  His nose tickled.  Languidly, he drew the back of his right hand over the spot, still unwilling to open his eyes.  He rolled to his right, pulling the pillow towards his chest.  He would be most contented if that cursed itch at the tip of his nose would go away.  He scratched more this time, with his left hand.  Dozing again, he was starting to dream of Sara when…_Blast!  There it goes again._

As he opened his eyes, the morning light streaming through the far windows almost blinded him.  In the glare, he could make out the silhouette of Annie, holding a small strand of her beautiful, brown hair.  Giggles poured out of her as she proclaimed.

"I was tickling you, Sir Ian…It was me."  She laughed.  

The sound of her laughter was a strange and enrapturing melody, never before heard by Nottingham, trained assassin and bodyguard to a cruel master.  Forgetting himself, he grabbed her, hugging the small child to his chest, wrestling her under the covers for a mad game of hide and seek.  The sound of his deeper, heartfelt laughter harmonized with the lilt of her high-pitched squeals.  Sara heard the commotion from the bathroom and ran to investigate.  Their laughter was infectious and she wanted to be a part of it, but more importantly, she wanted to witness a side of Nottingham she had never seen.  As she rounded the corner, a pair of hysterical pranksters confronted her from under her bed linens.

"What is going on here?  Do you want to get me thrown out of my apartment for disturbing the peace?"  She tried to appear stern but could not keep the grin off her face when Nottingham and Annie popped their heads up from under the sheets with their hair a mess.

"I am sorry, Lady…Sara.  We did not know you were home."  Ian's eyes were wide with his surprise…and his embarrassment.  Although he was a little out of breath, the blush on his cheeks was not from exertion.  Sara was utterly charmed by this side of Nottingham, taken totally by surprise.  She was only beginning to see and truly appreciate the genuine depth of his nature.

"I was tickling, Sir Ian.  He is funny…" Annie had an infectious giggle.

Nottingham looked down at the little girl beside him, not able to suppress a grin.

"Is this Lady Sara, Sir Ian?"  Annie poked her thin legs out from under the sheets and stood by the bed with a shy smile, still wearing her clothes with a few more wrinkles.

"Yes, little one. This is the Lady."  Ian was most courtly with his introductions.

"You were right, Sir Ian.  She is most beautiful."  Nottingham jerked his head toward Annie, not expecting to hear his words repeated in front of Sara.  Looking back to Sara with his mouth open, he gulped and shrugged for the damage had already been done.

"Lady Sara? Don't you think Sir Ian is beautiful, too?"  Annie was not done with her frankness, much to Nottingham's chagrin.

"You don't…have to say anything, Sara.  She does not know…" Ian crawled out from under the sheets himself, picking up Annie, setting her on his right hip.  Sara approached the two, interrupting Nottingham with a touch of her fingers to his lips.

"Yes…Annie.  Sir Ian is most handsome…and beautiful."  Standing before Ian, Sara smiled first upon him then gently pinched the nose of little Annie, who squealed with delight.  Nottingham knew Sara had been playing along with Annie's game, yet she seemed sincere.  Give him a sniper rifle or a sword, he would know what to do instinctively.  This thing between men and women was agonizing and teeming with peril.

"Let's get you some breakfast, Annie…while Sir Ian freshens up."  Nottingham put down the child and wandered to the bathroom.  Looking back over his shoulder, he watched as Sara fixed a bowl of cereal for Annie.   Before he could get melancholy over the tableau of domestic bliss that lay before him, Sara called out to him.

"I've left a shirt for you to wear…I know you didn't get a chance to bring anything with you from the estate.  Hope it fits."  Nottingham sensed there was a joke in this comment from her demeanor but failed to understand it.

When he entered the bathroom, he noticed a set of towels laid out for him and a black t-shirt on the counter.  With the wounds still fresh on his back, a good hot shower was out of the question.  He would make do with what he had.

Nottingham had been in the bathroom for almost a half-hour.  Sara was enjoying her one-on-one time with Annie but she kept glancing toward the hall, waiting for his appearance.  A few minutes later, he walked out shaking his head, wearing the shirt she had left him.

"Led Zepplin…You a big fan, Sara?"  Ian wore the black shirt with _Led Zepplin emblazoned across the front, along with the words…__Electric Magic underneath.  With his long hair, he looked like a roadie.  The image was priceless._

"The biggest…Ian."  Nodding her head, desperately trying to stifle a laugh.

"Well…it fits.  I am most appreciative of the loan of your finest, most prized possession."  He mocked.  Annie, of course, was oblivious to their humor.

Over a bowl of cereal for Ian, Sara told them both that Annie's uncle wanted to take her on an airplane today, back to live with him and his family in Oregon.  They were to meet him in front of the Eleventh Precinct at two o'clock, along with their assigned social services caseworker.  Annie would be a part of this family and live on a farm with cows, chickens, and a couple of ponies for the kids.  She would have an older brother and two sisters closer to her age.  Annie had always been an only child and lived in the heart of a big city.  The prospect of an instant family and a farm with animals seemed to excite her.  

In Annie's mind, Oregon and New York were practically on top of each other.  Sir Ian and Lady Sara could visit her all the time.  It took Sara a while to make the child understand they were saying goodbye and that they wanted her to be happy with her new family and home.  Annie kept looking to Ian for his acceptance of this.  He smiled at the child, trying to cheer her up along with Sara, but his heart was not in it.  He would be sorry to see her go.  She had made him feel strange and wondrous things, things he had long since forgotten from his childhood.  Nottingham was truly happy for her, but he grew strangely quiet on the subject, trying to grapple with his own feelings.

After cleaning up the kitchen, Nottingham and Annie crawled through Sara's window onto the fire escape landing.  With Annie standing on the next step down and squeezed securely between his long legs, Ian had one arm around her waist and was pointing out different landmarks to Annie, the chatterbox.  Sara took the opportunity to call her partner who was going to be released from the hospital today.

"Hey, partner…How are you feeling?"  She asked.

"Haven't had this bad a headache since the big kegger after the Menudo Concert.  I'll live…I think.  Are you alright?"  His voice sounded weak but was music to her ears.  His humor had not suffered any.

"Just a little bruised in spots you'll never see…but can't complain."  She teased.

"Guess the taxpayers are pretty happy with this one…no long, drawn out court case…having to listen to why this asshole killed all these women…cause he was abused as a kid."

"What are you talking about, Danny?"

"You haven't heard?  Seems Wyatt was so distraught over what he had done that he committed suicide early this morning.  Hung himself with his own shirt."

"What?  I hadn't heard that.  That doesn't make any sense, Danny.  He didn't seem the type."

"Guess you haven't read the papers yet…His suicide comes at a pretty convenient time for the Captain, too.  It seems Wyatt had sent flowers to Dante, the mayor's office, and the newspapers claiming he had been tipped on the trap to capture him by the Captain himself…when he and Orlinsky were in the john.  Guess Dante didn't look to see whose feet were showing under the stalls when he went running off at the mouth."  Sara could hear the humor and the sarcasm in her partner's voice.  He had the same feelings towards their illustrious Captain as Sara had.

"Guess Wyatt was just trying to reach out and touch someone…but not before washing his hands, I hope.  Do you think the Captain's career is in the toilet?" She joked.

"Just one swirl away, Pez, but no such luck…The press will no doubt down play this with the capture and death of Wyatt, but they had already started to call Dante and Orlinsky…_Dumb and Dumber."  Danny started to laugh aloud.  "Ouch…that hurts.  At least he can't blame you for the failed trap…too many people know otherwise…and you did beat the crap out of Wyatt single-handedly. Pun intended."_

"That's only because my tried and true partner was sucker punched…or you would have had the honors."  

Changing the subject, Sara filled her partner in on Annie's good fortune.  Before hanging up the phone, she had to promise Danny that she would give Annie a big hug for him.  This would not be difficult.  She had a sneaking suspicion that hugs were going to be plentiful. 

Nottingham looked in through the window, catching Sara's eye as he held Annie.  He knew his time with the child was nearing an end.  She had to move on with her life, putting this nightmare behind her.  Nottingham was a man of shadows, yet hoped she would not associate him with the darkness of her ordeal.  He wanted her to remember that when she needed him, he helped her find the light. 

*****

Annie's uncle was a tall, slender man with dark, brown hair, graying at the temples.  The lines on his face were evidence of his preference for good humor. With infinite amount of patience, he waited for Annie to come to him.  Raised by a loving mother, Annie was eager to accept Tom Kensington as family.

"I don't know how to thank you…both you and Mr. Nottingham.  I expected to see…well, a different child."  Sara, standing alongside Tom Kensington, watched as Annie and Nottingham said their farewells.

"It was Ian that pulled her through this, Mr. Kensington.  He is…very special."  Sara left it at that.  

Nottingham knelt in front of Annie, holding both her small hands in his. From inside his head, he heard a small voice in his subconscious.

_"I will miss you, Sir Ian.  You have given me a very special gift.  I will never forget you."  _

_She spoke to him without opening her mouth.  Nottingham was surprised by her newly found telepathic abilities.  Perhaps she had always had the skill.  Maybe that was why he could connect with her.  In any event, he accepted this with pleasure…for he would not feel alone any longer._

_"No greater gift than you have given me, little one.  I shall cherish our friendship always."_

Sara watched the two as they hugged for the last time.  Although they had not said a word, she had a feeling they had connected in their very own special way.  Tom and Annie Kensington waved as their cab pulled away from the curb in front of the Eleventh Precinct.  Nottingham's eyes were solidly on Annie's.

_"Farewell, Sir Ian.  I love you."_

_"No more than I love you, My Lady."_

Nottingham's eyes welled with tears, making it hard for him to see her face as it grew smaller and smaller.  Genetically enhanced sight did no good if tears obscured the view.  Nottingham and Sara stood together on the curb long after the cab carrying Annie away had rounded the corner.  They both knew that their reason for being together the last few days had just departed.  They would have to find another reason for wanting to _stay together.  Turning towards Nottingham, with eyes drowning in her own tears, Sara was the first to speak._

"You're going back to Irons…Aren't you?"  She knew the answer before he spoke it.  With his beautiful brown eyes, the color of her favorite coffee, he replied.

"Don't look so sad, Sara.  It is the life I have chosen…willingly.  I would choose it a thousand times if it meant I could serve you…Lady Sara."  He smiled as he caressed her hand, the one without the Witchblade.

In his smile, she could understand the meaning of sacrifice and unconditional love.  It was there in his face.  It had always been there.  Not recognizing his devotion, she had failed to see it before, yet he had demonstrated it in so many different ways.  But today, it was as clearly visible as his shy smile, as evident as her reflection in his beautiful, mocha-colored eyes.

Nottingham wanted to show Sara how he felt at this moment, wanting to embrace her.  Knowing they may never be as close as they were now, he was resigned to serve his beloved wielder in deference to his own feelings.  Not wanting to take liberties to which he was not entitled, he lowered his eyes and turned to walk away.

Sara knew he was leaving, content to serve her as he had always lovingly done in the past.  He would knowingly relinquish his life in service to her, to protect her against his heartless master.  Tears welled in her eyes.  She could feel his love, even as he was pulling away the hand that held hers so tenderly.  This would not do.  She held fast, making him turn back towards her.  It was her time to fight for him, let him know just how she felt.  

Ian was startled by her forwardness, especially as she stepped close enough for him to feel the heat from her skin.  Her eyes were more beautiful up close, if that were even possible.  He had been so eager for this to happen, yet now, as she stood before him, he didn't know what to do…except perhaps to let nature take its course.  It was as if the world had suddenly stood still for their moment.  The traffic and sounds of the city were silenced by the beating of their hearts.  Sara pulled him close to her.  Almost having to stand on tiptoe, she held his face in her hands as she quenched her thirst with his lips.

Nottingham had wanted this to happen, but knew he had no right to expect it.  It was as if a prayer, that he would not have dared to vocalize, had finally been answered.  He gasped with the first touch of her lips to his.  Wrapping his arms around her, he did not know where to put his hands, anxious that he might hurt her in his zeal.  He drew her to his chest only to find her body fit perfectly into his.  As the tip of her tongue parted his lips gently, he was astonished at the sensation.  Chills shot through his body as their tongues intertwined.  He gained more confidence as she reacted to his growing desire.   He never wanted this moment to end.

Sara could sense Ian's innocence, but he was a very quick study.  His passion overwhelmed her, so much so that she did not hear the horns honking and the catcalls until much later.  New Yorkers were romantics at heart.  They pulled apart, yet continued to caress each other and nuzzled affectionately, as if they had been lovers for a very long time.

"It breaks my heart to see you go back to the estate…please don't do this…not for me."  Sara pleaded breathlessly.

"Don't make this any harder for me, Sara.  You know how I feel…This is something I must do." He appealed to her.

"Then go…go now…while I have the strength for it."  A tear rolled down her cheek.

As she parted from him, she noticed Nottingham was not ashamed to let her see him cry.  He made no attempt to conceal it.  It was one of the many things she had grown to respect in him.  She could not watch him walk away.  Turning in the opposite direction, she headed home…alone.

Wrapped solidly in his feelings for Sara, Nottingham made his way in the general direction of the estate, choosing to walk so he could think.  He failed to notice the dark town car, driven by chauffeur, that inched its way behind him for a block or two, then drove away.

Kenneth Irons had received a tip from the discredited Captain Dante that Nottingham and Sara would be at the Eleventh Precinct this afternoon.  He had watched his trained assassin and lethal bodyguard kneel as he hugged a small child with genuine warmth.  This was perplexing enough, but when he was forced to observe his sexually inexperienced protégé grope the wielder ineptly, his anger had boiled to the surface.  It did not matter that the wielder had initiated the show of affection, Nottingham should not have accepted this.  He was beneath her…a mere servant.  Irons would never have admitted his jealously, yet he could see the writing on the wall.  With Nottingham around, Fair Sara would have eyes for no other.  Infuriated, he could not see what Nottingham possessed over him.  There was nothing…NOTHING!

It was time.  Time to end this charade once and for all.  He would not be made a fool in front of the wielder or anyone else...by this menial.  Nottingham was headed back to the estate.  Irons would have time to set his plan in motion...with finality.


	10. Atonement

**Chapter Ten – Atonement**

Nottingham ignored the sideways glances of the security guards for the estate as they reluctantly let him pass, no doubt by order of Irons himself.   Surely there was no dictum about letting the pig _into the slaughterhouse.  There was an outside chance the glances were due to the __Led Zepplin T-shirt he wore, which was very uncharacteristic of him.  But more than likely, they may have wondered why he had returned at all, when most of them would have left Irons' cruelty long ago.  A bright streak of orange blazed across a deep blue sky.  The sun had started to set on what had been an almost perfect day, but Annie was on her way to Oregon and Sara…well, there was his beloved Sara.  His long walk back to the estate had brought no better solution to his dilemma regarding the wielder._

As he meandered up the path from the front gate, he surveyed the grounds.  They were beautiful this time of year, but nothing seemed familiar.  The only place he wanted to be was with her.  The front doors of the estate loomed ahead.  The feeling was not unlike a prisoner walking the last mile, he presumed.  Maybe there was no presumption to it, for a part of him would die when he entered this time.  Stopping on the front step with eyes closed, he placed his right hand on the door as he took a deep breath.  _For Lady Sara, he reminded himself._

Walking through the threshold, he stood just inside the entry listening for him.  Nottingham was not sure how much physical abuse his body could take, on top of the last flogging he had sustained.  But he was determined to survive for Sara.  He would do anything to protect her…anything.  Slowly, he headed for the Great Room, the site of his last torture.  This was Irons' usual spot this time of day.   The fire was ablaze in the hearth but Irons was nowhere to be found.  The expression on his face did not give away the slight elation he had felt not finding his master right away.  Being a realist, however, he knew this was only a delay of the inevitable.

The stairs to his room lay ahead.  With much deliberation, he climbed them, hoping to have some time to himself to shower and change before having to face his master.  As was customary, the door to his room was closed.  A mockery of privacy, for he had none at the estate.  Moving into his quarters, he closed the door behind him and stepped over to the console table to his right to turn on the table lamp.  With downcast eyes, he stared at the all too familiar lamp, allowing himself to be distracted as he tried to picture Sara's face.  Suddenly, his heart leapt, as he became aware of another presence in the room just behind him.

"So…Has the prodigal son returned?"  

Nottingham did not have to turn around to know the chilling voice of his master, Kenneth Irons.  Closing his eyes, he prepared for what was to come.  No answer was going to be acceptable, so Nottingham responded with his silence.

"I have come to the rather painful conclusion that I have failed with you…as your master."  Irons spoke in hushed tones; but then again, a snake could be at your feet without making a sound.  

Ian turned to face Irons' retribution as he leaned against the console table.  Irons had spoken of his failure, but as Ian knew from past experience, Irons never acknowledged his own shortcomings, but was going to blame Ian for their failed relationship.  His master had been sitting on Ian's bed in his custom-made, dark blue Italian suit with one of many designer red power ties, a matching kerchief in his pocket.  There was not a hair out of place.  He looked as if he had just stepped off the cover of GQ magazine.  There was a time when Ian had admired his sense of style, but of late, his attire had only reminded him of the luxurious striped coat of the most deadly tiger.  Although the tiger's fur was beautiful, it was still the last thing its prey would see before having its jugular ripped out.

"I keep trying to change your behavior but you keep doing what you will do…to spite me.  You get more willful everyday."  

Irons had been watching Ian, hoping to make him feel more uncomfortable by now.  Nottingham just stared at him, without any indication of his emotions.  Perhaps Irons _had taught him well.  Still, this lack of reaction angered Irons.  This was only proof of how much his servant had changed over the years.  _

As a child and into his teenage years, Nottingham had been easy to read and desperately strived to please his master.  Somewhere along the line, he had gotten smarter at his passive resistance game.  Irons could not prove, in many instances, if he failed on a mission because of circumstances out of his control or because of a deliberate, well thought out failure of his own making.  Nottingham had learned to play chess from the master, and he had learned the game and its principles well.

Nottingham had played this blame game with Irons countless times before, growing more tired of it as the years passed.  He knew Irons had an agenda that was to be forthcoming.  Expressionless, he waited for Irons to divulge his destination, for there was no point to rushing him.  His master relished the journey only secondarily to its conclusion.

"We cannot continue like this…you and I."  Again, Irons waited for a reaction from Nottingham, but Ian refused to give him the satisfaction.  This angered Irons even more.  He started to clinch his jaw, glaring more pointedly at Ian.

"Do you think me a fool?  It is obvious you wish to serve the wielder solely as your master."  Nottingham blinked, giving himself away.  Although what Irons had said was true, Ian had not even come to the same conclusion as yet.  Irons continued.

"I created you…made you what you are…gave you the opportunity to serve her.  And this is how you have repaid me."  Irons' voice was shaking with rage.

"Well…I am offering you the ultimate opportunity to serve the Lady Sara."  Irons said smugly.

Nottingham's reaction could not be abridged.  Was Irons offering him an opportunity to serve Sara exclusively?  If this were true, would he remain Irons' confidante in all things…to protect her from his master?  Nottingham waited for the other shoe to drop, for his master always knew how to set him up.

"It seems your precious Lady Sara has a deadline, no pun intended.  Captain Dante has been instructed to kill Detective Pezzini by midnight tonight…unless he hears from me, of course."  Irons was finally getting the reaction he had planned from Nottingham.  His eyes had not strayed from those of his master.  Irons could also tell by the rise and fall of his servant's shoulders that his breathing was erratic as his anxiety level mounted.  Nottingham could not hide his true feelings any longer.  Since he now had an audience, Irons continued with supreme confidence.

"You may ask yourself…What does he want?  What would it take to have him call this whole thing off?"  Even though Irons was taking his own sweet time with his delivery, Nottingham knew where he was going.  His eyes welled with tears for he could not believe it had come to this.

From behind his back, Irons pulled out a 38-caliber Smith and Wesson handgun, along with a piece of paper and pen, laying it conspicuously on the middle of the bed. With an arrogant look in his eyes and with frigidity even Ian would not have believed possible, Irons continued.

"You have failed me…but you can still serve Lady Sara…by making the ultimate sacrifice…your life for hers.  I have even provided you some paper so you can write her a suicide note…for her eyes only.  I will deliver it to her myself."

His tears could no longer be hidden.  They streamed down his face, awash with all of his memories.  Irons had been the closest relationship Nottingham had to a father.  For Irons to desire his suicide and provide the weapon to do it, it was as if he had reached into his chest and pulled out his beating heart.  His father had severed all ties with him, his son, and was now asking him to do the same.  

Images flashed into his mind of the many moments he had experienced with this 'father' of his.  Irons was a master at taking their dysfunctional relationship and contriving circumstances to place the blame for their dysfunction at Ian's door, in much the same manner as an abusive parent controls a battered child.  Most of the memories were harsh, but through it all, Nottingham had tried desperately to please him, never succeeding.  Maybe he could succeed in this, his final demand.

Nottingham knew that he had always wanted more than Irons was capable of giving.  Yet, Ian had continued to love him like a father.  What Irons had said had been true.  He had ultimately failed him.  But he would not fail her.  It was now in his power to save Lady Sara's life.

"Do what must be done, young Nottingham.  Ultimately, I am sure you will thank me for this opportunity to serve her.  It shall be a mercy."

Nottingham, growing more despondent, walked across the room to sit on the far corner of his bed, opposite his master.  The futility of his life…his despair…had encased him in its web.  The tears refused to come any more.  He stared out the window nearest him that overlooked the well-manicured, pristine grounds of his father's…his master's estate.  The gardens were truly beautiful this time of year, he thought as he reached for the paper and pen.

Irons sensed Nottingham could no longer hear him.  He stepped toward the door, looking back only once…it was done.  As Kenneth Irons closed the door to Ian's room, the magnitude of what he had asked his loyal servant to do hit him like floodwaters, yet he could not make himself reverse the course of its currents.  

His pride would not allow it.

Irons made his way towards the Great Room.  He would have a sherry and sit by the fire in his favorite chair, and try to forget the knot of regret in his stomach.  The fire warmed his face but his heart remained as cold as his words to Ian.  He tried to repress the many memories he was conjuring in his head, images of Ian as a child, a youngster who only wanted to serve his master.

_"When can I learn to fight, master?"  Even then, as a young boy, his eyes were as intense as they were today.  The pervasive sadness didn't come until much later._

_"Be patient, young Nottingham.  All in good time, lad."  Irons had a mound of clay standing before him, a pliable willing minion at his beck and call._

"Where did you go, young Nottingham?" Irons muttered to himself, starting on his third glass of sherry.

His mind would not stop the instant replay of his life with Ian.  The tireless discipline he had when he was a boy trying hard to become Irons protégé was only a small measure of his devotion.  Irons had played countless chess matches with his eager, young student, played solely to teach the advantage of strategy and defeating an opponent.  Nottingham had been a willing and open book for Irons' instruction and eager to reflect Irons' sense of morality in his earlier years.  

As Irons tested his student's willingness to blindly accept his commands, he found Ian had developed a threshold of tolerance that could not be overrun.  Even though Irons was openly critical of this, he would not have respected Nottingham if he had just blindly obeyed without question.  Further, his loyal servant endured the painful genetics enhancements and chemicals, trying only to please his master.  The mental and physical abuse dished out by Irons to appease his own emotions, at the expense of his young warrior, was now being recalled in great detail, including the lashing he suffered only recently.  Nottingham had never once raised his hand to his master although he had been given much provocation.  Again, an example of his love and devotion to a man he looked upon as his father.

Irons had not noticed when _his tears had started to flow.  He just saw their wet reflection in the crystal he brought to his lips, trying to drown his remorse.  Looking at the clock, he was amazed to notice he had been sitting there over a half-hour since walking down from Nottingham's room.  _

Maybe there was still time.  Maybe he could find another way.

Irons set his glass down and bolted to the door of the Great Room, desperately hoping he would be in time.  His heart raced as he dared to hope.  Before he had taken a few steps, the ear shattering blast of gunfire ripped through his head and his heart, doubling him over in pain and sorrow as he collapsed to the floor.  His grief manifested itself in a long, slow moan that had escaped from deep within his soul.

He was too late.  This could not be fixed.  Young Nottingham was no more.  Images of Ian as a child…as a young man…as his loyal servant flashed in his head, he could not stop the flood of memories…or the guilt.  His purveyor of justice…his confidante…his faithful servant…his son…was forever gone.  You could not convince Irons that he had not suffered a gapping hole to his chest with that gunfire, for the agony of his culpability made it feel as if he would soon die…of the broken heart he had a hand in making.

It took Irons a long while to notice the servants were agitated over hearing the sound of gunfire.  He became aware of them chattering about the sound coming from Nottingham's room…and how it was deathly quiet in there now.  One brave soul, a long time servant named Benjamin, had found Irons crumpled on the floor, with eyes glazed over.

"Sir…I believe I have heard a gunshot coming from Mr. Nottingham's room.  The door is closed and I do not wish to intrude.  Is there something you wish me to do?"  Benjamin's voice was trembling.  He had only ventured a few feet into the room.  It took Irons a while to hear what Benjamin had conveyed.

"Bring me a phone…I need to make a call."  Irons' voice was so low Benjamin had barely heard him from where he had been standing.  He hurriedly moved across the room to grab the remote phone off the console table on the far wall.  He conveyed it to Irons before he departed the room, closing the doors to give him some privacy.

"Captain Dante…I have a situation here at the estate.  It seems…" Irons' voice was failing him.  The words were too difficult to say…giving voice to the finality of the act.

"It seems Ian Nottingham may have…committed suicide.  I need you to be discreet."  He disconnected the phone, dropping it to the floor, without waiting for a response from Dante.

There would be no redemption, no atonement for his sins.  It was done.


	11. Epilogue - Strategems

**Epilogue – Stratagems**

Captain Bruno Dante was relieved to get the call from Irons.  Not only was he glad to hear the news of Nottingham's demise, since Irons' assassin always gave him the jitters, but it also gave him an opportunity to leave his office and avoid the many calls from the press and the Mayor's office.  He wanted to distance himself from the Randy Wyatt suicide and the failed trap at the hospital.  The public had a short attention span; his career depended upon it.

The sun had gone down over an hour ago, so the Irons estate security lights were burning.  It was apparent something was amiss at the mansion.  More guards could be seen patrolling the grounds and the lights inside the manor were ablaze.  Security had been alerted to expect his handpicked team for the investigation of the shooting.  As Dante drove through the main gate, he began to speculate on what might have happened this evening.

He had always belittled Irons' bodyguard, without him being present of course, because Nottingham had always intimidated him.  Actually, the proper phrasing was that he had always scared the hell out of him.  His intellect was formidable enough, but his genetic and chemical enhancements only fortified his already invincible skills as an assassin.  Just the fact that he had survived this long under Irons' tutelage was an amazing feat.  Dante thought there was an outside chance that Nottingham had actually been murdered by Kenneth Irons himself.  Maybe his loyal servant had finally turned on him, forcing Irons to kill him, maybe in self-defense.  He would know more when he got inside.

Entering the mansion, his team was ushered to Nottingham's bedroom by one of Irons' servants.  Dante had never been allowed this far into the manor.  He thought it peculiar that Irons had not spoken to him first.  Perhaps he was cleaning himself up, washing off the blood and gunpowder residue from his hands.  If Dante played his cards right, he would have something to hold over his head.  Of course, this was a dangerous game to play with a man as lethal as Irons.

As Dante's investigative team entered the room; it was apparent that a gun had been fired recently in the quarters.  Only a small lamp on a side table dimly illuminated the room.  Nottingham's bedroom was almost as big as Dante's home.  After more lights were lit, the team had donned their latex gloves and began combing the room for the body.  It was Orlinsky who first saw Nottingham's hiking boots, obscured by the bed itself.

"The body is on the other side of the bed…Over here."  He informed the team so they could get to work. As the detective came around the corner of the bed, he exclaimed, "What the hell?"

*****

Dante was ushered into the Great Room to see Irons, who had made himself suddenly available to the NYPD Captain.  Irons looked older, and had a tired expression on his face.  Before Dante could speak, Irons barked an order as if he were one of his many servants.

"I'm going to want his head wrapped in ice.  No questions asked, Bruno."  Irons continued to look into the fire, not making eye contact with the perplexed Captain.

"Well…I do have at least one question for you.  Is this your idea of a joke?"  That got Irons' attention.  Looking toward Dante, he noticed the Captain was handing him a piece of paper.  Presumably, it was Nottingham's suicide note.  Irons unfolded the paper.  His face reddened with rage as he read the note in Nottingham's own handwriting.

_Remember…you made me what I am…and Daddy didn't raise no fool._

What the hell was this?  His thoughts were jumbled in his head; nothing was making any sense.  Irons bolted to Ian's room, taking two steps at a time up the stairs, with Dante close behind.  Dante's team of investigators had been told to stay in Nottingham's room until they had heard from their Captain.  Irons shoved his way into the room, searching for the body, cursing under his breath.  He was beginning to believe he had been had.  This was confirmed when he noticed Nottingham's room had been cleaned out of all his weapons, clothing, and other personal belongings.  Irons began to pace the room, his heart rate elevated, his breathing erratic.  _Damn it, Nottingham! He thought.  _

Stopping mid-stride, Irons' mind had begun to speculate on what else young Nottingham may have done.  Perhaps because he himself would have done the same.  Leaving a confused group of detectives behind, Irons ran downstairs towards his study and home office.  Dante was fast on his heels.  Wanting his privacy, he slammed the study door in the Captain's face as he made his way towards the safe secreted behind a rather large Monet painting on the wall behind his massive desk.  Peering into the dark interior of the safe, he gasped as he saw what he had expected to see.  Irons had kept a million dollars in cash in the safe and, more importantly, he had kept books on his illegal arms trading.  Both were gone.  There was only a small, folded piece of paper remaining.  Feeling every bit of his age, he collapsed into his leather desk chair, trying to catch his breath.  He read the note, knowing who had written it.

_"You harm Sara…and I harm you."_

Irons screamed in his frustration, pounding his right hand into the side of his cherry wood desk until it was bleeding and bruised.  Dante, hearing the noise, forced his way into the study, not waiting for an invitation.  The NYPD Captain looked around the room, gun in hand, to make sure it was secure.  Irons' screaming was not an everyday occurrence.  Holstering his weapon, Dante walked over to the desk where Irons now sat, seething with his own hostility.

"What happened?  Your boy get something of value?"  Dante asked, wishing he had not after Irons glare answered his question.

"Guess he wasn't house broken."  Dante pushed, never having been accused of being very bright.

Irons demeanor changed with Dante's last remark.  His emotional outburst was under control.  He now directed his hostility toward the imbecile before him.

"By the way, Captain Dumber…For some inexplicable reason, my trained assassin Mr. Nottingham thinks you intend to kill his precious Sara Pezzini by midnight tonight."

Irons took a moment to watch Dante's reaction.  Unlike Nottingham, the good Captain was much easier to read.

"I would be sleeping with one eye open tonight…and every night from here on."  A smug look came over Irons' face, a much more common expression.

Dante tried to keep a poker face, but Nottingham was a ghost, a lethal weapon.  His heart felt like it would beat out of his chest.  His throat was dry and raspy.  When he thought his career was over, he imagined that was the worst that could happen…until now.

"Now how did he get that impression, Kenneth?"  Dante knew this familiarity would irritate Irons.  Irons had unleashed his attack dog on him.  The gloves were off.

Irons shrugged languidly before answering.

"Haven't a clue.  Perhaps you'll get a chance to ask him yourself."  The thought of staring into the eyes of Nottingham sent chills down Dante's back.   If there were a possibility of being that close to the most deadly Ian Nottingham, he would not be thinking of any questions to ask him.  He would be looking for the nearest exit.  Irons was not done with Captain Dante.  He loved seeing him twist in the wind.

"Oh and Captain?  If there is one thing I have learned today…never find yourself standing between Nottingham and his beloved Sara Pezzini."  Irons smiled wickedly, relishing his advantage over this man he detested.  

Irons would have killed Dante long ago, just for the sport, except for his position as Captain in the NYPD.  The greed and corruption of this dishonorable man had proven handy at times.  Except for his stupidity and lack of imagination, Irons found a kindred spirit in the morality department.  He was a necessary evil unfortunately.

Dante did not understand the story behind Nottingham and Petzini, but it seemed she had some connections he may need to better understand before taking her on again.  Turning on his heels, he stormed out of the Irons' estate with his detectives.  How would he protect himself now?

Still sitting at his desk in his study, Irons felt as if he had survived a hurricane…one of his own creation.  He had pushed his loyal servant too far and had not counted on the extent of his reaction.  Putting himself in Nottingham's place, he was not sure he would not have acted in the same manner.  If he had been playing chess with Nottingham, as he had done on many other occasions, this would be Ian's 'checkmate'.  Thinking aloud, Irons muttered.

"You are right about one thing, young Nottingham.  You are your father's son."  He was not sure if he should feel ashamed over his part in this or feel pride for Nottingham's survival and ultimate victory…perhaps a bit of both.

"I underestimated you, Ian…but that won't happen again."  His voice was cold, reflective of his devious mind.

Irons was confident he would face his once loyal servant again.  Perhaps at their next encounter, the wielder Sara Pezzini would be in command of Nottingham.  The thought of such an alliance unsettled him.  He only hoped Nottingham would still be confused between his love for Irons as a father figure and his hatred of a cruel master.  

It might mean the difference between living and dying.

**The End**


End file.
